


It's The End of the World As We Know It

by hashtagsalads



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Heavy Angst, Minor Podrick Payne/Arya Stark, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Survival, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:58:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 81,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hashtagsalads/pseuds/hashtagsalads
Summary: The world has been plunged into a waking nightmare. The dead roam the earth, and the living take shelter wherever they can, doing their best to survive. Sandor Clegane and his band of survivors are traveling forth to the Eyrie in search of something more permanent so they can start to rebuild. Sansa Stark is on her way to Riverrun, praying that she'll find someone, anyone from her family alive after enduring the loss of several of the people she holds dear. When they cross paths, sparks fly, igniting an instant hatred for one another. They'll have to learn to get over their initial feelings towards each other for the good of the group, as they come up with a plan that could just be the ticket to a better life for them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Welcome to the start of my latest story! I wasn't sure how popular a Zombie AU would be, but I've been wanting to write one, so here we are. :)
> 
> Originally I intended for this to be a five chapter placeholder while I started to work on another story idea I had, but then it spun out of control (as my works often do) so now we're well on our way to what will probably be at least 20 chapters, if not a few more. I haven't finished the outline yet, so for now I'll have to leave it as 1/?. I will update with the number of chapters once I complete the outline. I know how the story goes and how it ends, but I like to flesh out what happens in each chapter, so it takes me a bit to get through it all.
> 
> As I stated in the tags, there is temporary character death in this story, so be warned. If you don't want to see one of your favorite characters dying, even if it's only for a little bit, then I'm afraid you might not want to get invested here. Of course, I totally understand if that's the case! I will place a warning in the author's notes at the beginning of the chapter where it happens, as I do with all my stories, so if you want to avoid that specific chapter you'll be able to.
> 
> And of course, thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to read this story, comment, or leave kudos! I appreciate it very much!

With his hands on his hips, Sandor eyed the run-down old farmhouse wearily. He turned back to Brienne, his good eyebrow raised and asked, “Are you sure about this place? Looks like it could fall over at the slightest breeze.”

“Do you have a better option? The sun is about to go down so we don’t have a choice. Unless you want to sleep in the rain again,” Brienne told him in a clipped tone as she was gearing up. She was giving him a look that suggested she didn’t want to be argued with and even as annoyed as he was, he kept his mouth shut. The blonde giantess was just as stubborn as he was, so there was no use trying to convince her of something different once her mind was made up.

Instead, he only sighed and headed towards the front door, still eyeing up the farmhouse. The building looked like it was in bad condition, as though no one had managed its upkeep in ages, so it was hard to say what they would find inside. At best, it would be empty, and they’d be able to settle into the living room with their sleeping bags. At worst, it would be filled with black mold, collapsed floors, and a nest of living corpses who were looking for their next meal. Sandor hated these old buildings nowadays, with all their narrow hallways and choke points. It was too easy for someone to become trapped, cornered by a set of gnashing teeth. When he’d been traveling alone, he almost never took a chance on a place like this for fear of losing his life.

Once he reached it, Sandor tentatively stepped up onto the porch and heard it groan under his weight, not a good sign.  He tested the door knob, and found it was rusty, but unlocked, eventually turning and allowing the door to creak open. The sound felt loud as a gunshot in the otherwise quiet countryside, and he winced, hoping that it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. Standing still, he listened for any scrapes or moans, signaling the presence of the dead inside. However, after a beat, it seemed the coast was clear—for now—and he stepped across the threshold.

The first room he entered appeared to be the living room, based on the couch, loveseat, and recliner that sat organized around a coffee table to face a TV stand. On it sat an old, tube-style television, and it appeared to be covered in dust which had gone undisturbed for some time, a good sign that there was no one here. Sandor’s eyes scanned the room, looking for spatters of blood or anything else that might indicate a struggle, but everything seemed to be in order. Maybe Brienne had made a good choice after all, though he’d never tell her so. Still, he moved cautiously through the entrance to the dining room, where a table and chairs sat neatly in the center. On the table was a floral arrangement which had long withered, its dried petals and leaves littering the wooden surface, along with more dust.

The only room that appeared to be disturbed on the ground level was the kitchen, which had clearly been picked over by various scavengers. All the cupboards had been flung open and were empty of any food that might have been left over. The fridge sat open as well, and from it emanated the foul stench of rotting produce and meat. Sandor shut the door quietly, shaking his head. The least whoever was here before could have done was shut it so that no one else had to suffer. He looked around and took note of the peeling floral wallpaper and the cracked windows, but found nothing else out of order. In another life, he would have seen this home as an opportunity to make some money, as its spacious interior made it appear to be easily flippable. But those days were behind him, and he returned his focus to clearing the house for entry.

It was time now to go upstairs, and each step creaked as he set foot onto it. He tried to keep his breathing quiet so as to hear any activity on the upper level that his footfalls might have aroused. When he made it to the landing, he stood still, and listened once again, waiting for the inevitable groan of a hungry corpse. Experience taught him that he couldn’t let his guard down, no matter how long it took them to react. Yet still, there was no noise, and so he started checking through the bedrooms, of which there were three.

He found nothing of note until he entered the master bedroom which was at the end of the hallway. There was a large, king-sized bed adjacent to the door, on which sat the bodies of a man and his teenaged daughter. They looked emaciated, and from all the blood, Sandor could only surmise that the father had opted to mercy kill his daughter before killing himself. He wasn’t new to these sorts of tragedies, having seen many after the apocalypse struck, and even before then he’d become numb to these sorts of things. So, rather than taking a moment to mourn their loss, he simply went over to the bed to see what kind of weapons or other useful items they had on them.

 At this point, it seemed safe to let his guard down now, a decision he would come to find out shortly was a mistake.

As soon as he reached for the body of the girl, she sprung to life—unlife? Sandor didn’t know the right word—and reached her desiccated hands towards him, grabbing onto his arm. Even though he pulled back, she held on, leaning forward to take a chunk out of him. While he tried to reach for his knife quickly, her teeth sank down, thankfully into the faded white leather of his coat, and not into his actual flesh. It seemed she couldn’t tell the difference, as she tried to rip that part of his jacket off, and he used the distraction to plunge the knife right into her skull. The moment he made contact with her brain, she fell slack, her mouth releasing his jacket, although the damage had already been done.

As she slumped down, he heard quick footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, a diminutive, angry ball of energy appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene and said, “What the fuck, Hound?”

 “Calm the fuck down, wolf-bitch. I handled it. You shouldn’t even be in here,” Sandor said, giving her a glare. Something about Arya had awakened a protective instinct in him, perhaps because she was so young, only nineteen, and he never let her inside a dwelling until after he and Brienne had cleared it.

“Well, it’s a good thing I was. What if there had been more of them? What if that one was still alive, huh? You’d be zombie chow, and we’d be down a man,” Arya scolded with her arms folded across her chest. Though she’d made it sound like she’d have been mad about the inconvenience of his death, he had a sneaking suspicion she cared about him as a person and didn’t want anything to happen to him. However, she’d never actually come out and say it, which was just fine with him.

Sandor wiped his knife off on the bedspread, sheathed it, and said, “Yeah, well, he’s not undead, there aren’t more of them, and if _I_ ever wind up zombie chow, you’ve probably been dead for weeks. Go tell the others the house is clear.”

As she stalked off, he looked back down at the corpses that were ruining a perfectly good bed and sighed. This would have been just the right size for him. Why couldn’t they have killed themselves on the floor instead? Or in the bathtub? Gods know they weren’t using those anymore, since there hadn’t been running water in months. The only way this could be usable is if he flipped the mattress over. But first, he’d need Brienne’s help to clean up the bodies.

Sandor hurried outside and found her scowling at him. She wasted no time in admonishing him, saying, “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“You were taking too long. You always do with those ridiculous hockey pads you call ‘armor.’ Why can’t you just wear them all the time?,” Sandor said, rolling his eyes at her.

“You know I hate wearing them in the car. They’re too bulky,” Brienne growled back with a scowl, “Besides, with how many times they’ve saved my skin, I don’t care how long they take to put on.”

Sandor still didn’t feel like arguing with her, and switched subjects, saying, “There’s some dead bodies upstairs that need to be burned or buried. Help me get them out of the house, would you?”

“I could help with that, if you wanted,” Podrick Payne tittered as he stepped around the vehicle, still holding onto his pack.

“No,” Brienne said sternly, though not unkindly, “You’ll finish unpacking the supplies, as you were told.”

He nodded, and immediately went back to unloading the trunk while the two of them went inside to clean up the mess.

Brienne’s reaction to the bodies was much different from his own, her expression twisted with sadness as she came to the realization of how these two people’s lives had ended. Sandor rolled his eyes again, thinking that the woman was far too sentimental for her own good. These people were dead, it didn’t really matter how, and wasting time being upset over it was pointless. When he said as much, she frowned at him, asking, “How can you say that, Sandor? They used to be real people, just like you and me. You really don’t feel anything when you look at them?”

“I feel annoyed that they couldn’t have killed themselves outside and saved us the trouble of having to drag their bodies downstairs, but that’s about it,” he shot back, not in the mood to defend himself to her.

“You should really have more respect for the dead,” Brienne said, shaking her head as she moved to wrap the girl up in a sheet.

“Yeah, well, that one didn’t have very much respect for me when she tried to take a chunk out of my arm, so you’ll have to forgive me for not giving a shit,” Sandor replied, holding up the newest hole in his jacket.

She only made a disgusted noise, and continued with her task, pausing to close the young woman’s eyes before folding the sheet over her face. Yes, the two of them were like oil and water, and if she wasn’t strong and capable, he probably would have parted ways with her weeks ago. Unfortunately, along with her strength and battle-prowess came her outdated ideas about chivalry, loyalty, and the value of human life. Sandor assumed she considered herself the moral compass of their group, as she often took on the role of their nagging conscience when she felt they were being too cavalier towards the zombies they were killing, or towards other survivors. Truth be told, if it were up to him, he’d just dump these people’s remains in some bushes and call it a day. However, Brienne would never stand for that, insisting on some sort of proper ceremony, be it through creating marked graves or burning their bodies to ash. Every time, she said a prayer for them, and every time, he mocked her for it.

As far as Sandor was concerned, this apocalypse was proof the Seven didn’t exist, and if they did, they certainly weren’t listening to anyone down here.

Once they were outside, Brienne barked at Pod to get them some shovels, so they could dig a grave for the deceased. Sandor groaned: the last thing he wanted to do was to dig a hole in the fucking dirt. But with the sun almost down, he knew a fire would attract too much notice from both the living and the dead. If they wanted one night of relative peace, they’d have to bury the fuckers instead of burn them. With a heavy sigh, he snatched the shovel out of Pod’s hand and set to work, digging the shallowest grave possible.

As soon as it was deep enough, he grabbed the body nearest to him and dumped it in unceremoniously, not bothering to figure out which one it was. Sandor heard Brienne make a noise of protest, but he ignored her, opting to start throwing dirt back in the hole instead. He was ready to stretch out on the bed upstairs and get some rest before taking the late night watch, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way anymore than it already was.

After the corpse was covered, he stalked over to his pickup truck, pulling back the tarp that covered their supplies to throw the shovel into the bed. Grabbing his pack out, he slung it over his shoulder and put the cover back in place so no one wandering by would be able to get a peek. Not that he expected anyone to be traveling through here especially with the rain, but one could never be too careful. Wordlessly, he walked by Brienne, through the house and into the master bedroom upstairs, ignoring Arya who was sitting far too close to Pod on the couch when she told him she’d be making dinner. At this point, his exhaustion outweighed his hunger, and he decided he’d just eat something later when he’d gotten a little rest.

Getting the bed to usable condition took less time than he thought, and soon enough he was settled in against the only pillow that had managed to escape the fucking moron’s suicide. He’d also had to crack the windows in the room to air out the smell of decay, which was aided by the scent of rain that had now permeated the space. They’d noticed the storm brewing, another reason they’d made this their camp for the evening, and soon the pregnant sky would unleash its torrents upon them. Arya had insisted they find a place with a roof because she was tired of waking up “practically drowning” in the half-inch of water that wound up in her tent somehow with how often it rained in the Riverlands.

If it had been anyone else, Sandor would have told them to fuck off and get over it, but with all the time they’d been traveling together, he’d developed a soft spot for the little wolf-bitch. She was fierce and wild, far from the soft debutante he’d expected her to be when he’d heard she was a Stark. They were an old family in Westeros, traditional, noble, and wealthy, and Sandor had never in his life expected to meet one of them, let alone be escorting one of them all over the place. She’d been captured by some gang—The Brotherhood they’d called themselves—and after he’d rescued her she insisted on heading off on her own to her grandfather’s home in the Riverlands. Apparently her mother had sent her a message to head there, and that was the last communication she’d heard.

With nowhere to go and nothing better to do, he’d followed her, hoping to find a safe place to stay. He had more than enough to offer in the way of survival skills, and he expected to be welcomed with open arms if he’d had a hand in getting Arya back to her family safely. It had seemed the perfect plan, until they’d actually arrived at the mansion, just in time to see it get engulfed by a hoard. She’d tried to run in to save her family, and Sandor had had to knock her out in order to get her away without catching the attention of the zombies.

She’d been furious with him at first, refusing to speak to him and insisting that it was his fault her family died. Eventually, though, she forgave him, and suggested they head to the Vale next to see if her Aunt Lysa was still alive. Apparently, her home was located in a particularly defensible location, and they could try to make a permanent settlement there. It was better than nothing, and since he hadn’t been able to come up with a better plan, they’d set off for the Eyrie, as Arya had called it.

It had been en route that they’d run into Brienne and Pod, who were traveling that way as well. Of course, the enormous woman had suggested they all travel together. When he told her she’d only weigh them down, she’d put him in a headlock, proving her strength and capability in a fight. Pod, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as skilled, but Arya appeared taken with him and so the four of them had become a little group, much to Sandor’s chagrin. The only upside to having more people was having more eyes to look out for potential danger, and so he tolerated the extra company.

Eventually, Sandor drifted off and woke only when Brienne shook him awake to let him know it was his turn to take watch. He could hear the rain falling softly against the window pane, and knew that it would likely be an uneventful evening for him.

As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, she said, “I was checking the map, and there’s a town only a few miles from here. We should check it out in the morning for supplies before we set out again.”

“A supply run? Really?” Sandor asked, irritated. Brienne had gotten it into her head that she was the leader of the group, and he hated the way she always seemed to have another order for him.

“You can never have enough supplies,” she replied tersely, a brow cocked in his direction, “If it’s the dead you’re worried about, don’t be. It’s a small town, likely deserted. We’ll leave as soon as the sun comes up.” She shut the door before he had a chance to reply, and he flipped it off in lieu of being able to give her the middle finger.

When he made it downstairs, he found an overturned bowl on the coffee table that had a scrap of paper with his name on it on top. Underneath was whatever dinner Arya had made (baked beans and canned chili apparently), now cold. Still, food was food, and he wolfed it down while he kicked back in the recliner, waiting for sunrise so he could get the stupid supply run over with. Hopefully it would be quick and easy, though nothing ever was anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa wasn’t sure what woke her first: the smell or the noise. She’d known it was a risk to sleep in her car, but she’d lost track of time and it had gotten dark before she could find suitable shelter. It was dangerous to go poking around structures at night and alone and it had been about to rain, so she’d tried to find an isolated area and lay low in her car instead. Under the assumption that if she didn’t make any noise she’d go undisturbed, she cracked the windows and eased the seat back, settling in for an uncomfortable night of sleep.

Her assumption was, unfortunately, very wrong.

To her horror, her car was surrounded on all sides by zombies. Because her windows were ajar, the smell of their rotting flesh had drifted in and was still assaulting her senses. She had expected to be used to it by now, but it seemed she never actually would be. Especially if they had their way and actually managed to break into her car through the few barriers that were keeping them at bay. By the intensity of their moans, and the sheer volume of them, she could only imagine that it would happen sooner than she’d like, and probably sooner than she could think of a way to get herself out of this situation.

Cursing herself for her irresponsibility, she could almost hear her most likely long-dead mother, Catelyn, doing the same. Not that Cat had ever given her many survival skills, but she’d always taught Sansa to take care of things the right way, and not use any shortcuts. And not finding proper shelter had, of course, been a shortcut. However, she didn’t have the time to beat herself up for her failings now. She had to focus on trying to save herself before she became lunch for the hungry cannibals lurking just outside her door.

She couldn’t exactly just plow through the corpses. There was quite a crowd, and if she tried to run them over she’d probably damage her vehicle—which she’d lovingly nicknamed Lady—to the point where she couldn’t use it anymore. Even though it would be the easiest thing, she didn’t want to ruin it for sentimental reasons. It was the last gift her parents had given her and it would devastate her to lose her only remaining connection to them. Not to mention, all her supplies were in here and she couldn’t carry everything that was in the backseat and the trunk. Sansa didn’t think she’d last more than a week without all that she’d scavenged so far.

Looking around, her eyes eventually drifted upwards and landed on the sunroof of her little Civic. Perhaps she could climb out through there and distract enough of them to come around to one side of her car, then jump back inside and drive off? They weren’t as nimble as she and she could probably out-maneuver them. The biggest danger would be getting close enough that they’d be tempted but far enough that they still couldn’t reach her.

Deciding not to over-think it and psych herself out, she opened the sunroof and pulled herself out onto the top of the car. The smell was improved slightly by having all the fresh air for it to disperse, but the noise only increased, and now that she was up higher, she could see just how many had accumulated. It was much more than she had initially thought, with them being about seven or eight deep around her Civic. Worse yet, she could see even more coming from all directions, their arms outstretched and moaning hungrily at the sight of her. It was a domino effect, of course. The moans of the first had attracted a second, and that one’s moans had attracted a third, and so on, until there was a hoard of them.

Yes, she had been very irresponsible indeed, and it was very likely that this shortcut was going to cost her her life.

Her mother would have been so disappointed.

Sansa was debating whether to climb back in her car and try her luck using it as a battering ram, or to just jump into the hoard and let them have at it, when a gunshot rang out, loud, and she saw one of the corpses collapse.

Shocked, her head swiveled in all directions, but she saw no one, at least on the ground level. There were several taller buildings around her, and she could only assume that someone was on the roof. Were they going to rescue her? Or perhaps they were just playing a quick game of target practice before abandoning her to her fate. Only time would tell, she supposed.

Several more shots were fired, and she saw that it seemed they were attempting to thin the heard around her. Not wanting to let them do all the work and waste more bullets than necessary, Sansa reached into her car and grabbed her knife from the center console. She had to be careful, but she could at least start trying to work on the ones closest to her. However, she was nervous, as she did her best to avoid combat and still wasn’t that handy with a knife even after all the time that had passed since the beginning of the apocalypse.

Dodging grasping hands, Sansa managed to take down a couple of zombies before she felt withered fingers grasp at her wrist. The corpse tried to drag her into its hungry maw, and she struggled against it, using her knife to saw at its wrist in an attempt to free herself. It wasn’t difficult, as its flesh was considerably decayed, but it detached before she expected and Sansa lost her balance, falling backwards onto the roof of the car. Somehow, the zombies on the other side were even more terrifying upside down, and before she could scramble to her feet, one of them managed to get ahold of her hair, tugging her towards another ravenous mouth.

She screamed then, as she struggled, even though she knew that it would only attract more unwanted attention. The zombie’s mangled face moved to descend on her own, and she tried to push it away, its decayed skin mushing uncomfortably against her hands. It was even more horrific looking up close, with a significant proportion of its face having being eaten away. She could see bone exposed and its eye dangled out of its socket, dangerously close to touching her. It was all too much, and she could feel her heart hammering as she struggled to keep it from biting her, terrified that her end was really here.

Suddenly, she heard a great roar, and the corpse that had been trying to make a meal out of her was torn away, bringing some of her hair with it. Sansa squeezed her eyes tightly shut, tears falling down her face, not wanting to face how close she’d come to death. She didn’t have long to recover, however, because large, much stronger hands, grasped her under her arms and started hauling her off the roof. She struggled and fought against them, only catching sight of burned flesh before a rough, rasping voice yelled, “Stop fighting me, girl, or you’ll get us both killed!”

Her movements immediately ceased and she finally looked at her captor. He was a very rugged-looking man, exactly the type you would expect to survive the end of the world. His hair was dark, long and unkempt like his beard, and she thought vaguely that she should lend him one of the razors she’d scavenged. He was also enormous and muscular, which explained how he could throw her around like a ragdoll without even the slightest thought. The most striking feature about him were his steel grey eyes, which were flashing at her angrily, obviously irritated with her resistance. Sansa thought he would have been handsome had it not been for all the unfortunate scarring on his face, which was what had made him resemble one of the creatures they were trying to escape. However, it didn’t look nearly as ghastly as the corpse that had tried to eat her, so where her younger self might have been unable to look past it, her current self got over it pretty quickly.

Instead, she let him throw her over his shoulder and dangled there while he hoofed it away from the zombies. There was running, his breaths coming in quick short bursts, Sansa’s body thumping against his muscular back, and then she was dumped onto her feet once more. In front of her was a pickup truck—much more beat up than her own vehicle—and he flung the door open. Sansa hesitated, unable to stop herself from looking back at her Civic, before the man grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and shouted, “Get in the fucking car if you want to live! Otherwise I’m leaving your ass here.”

As he glowered down at her, she protested weakly, saying, “My car…”

“I don’t have fucking time for this. If you want your car badly enough to die for it, then fine,” he stalked away from her and made his way to the driver’s side, yanking the door open and shoving his body inside. He turned to her from within and said, “Last chance.”

Sansa looked over to her car once more, and saw that the zombies that hadn’t been killed were making their way towards the two of them rather quickly. With a resigned sigh, she got in beside him, slammed the door, and buckled herself in as he took off, tires squealing.

It didn’t take long before he set in on her, saying, “I can’t fucking believe you almost got us killed over a fucking car. Of all the ungrateful bullshit.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, and I’d appreciate it if you’d clean up your language a little,” Sansa shot back, not feeling like a lecture after almost dying only minutes ago.

The incredibly rude man snorted and said, “Clean up my language? Listen here, Miss Priss: It’s the end of the fucking world. If I want to fucking swear, I fucking will. End of the fucking discussion. And don’t even get me started on what you owe me after I saved you.”

He had her there. If it hadn’t been for him and whatever other friends he had around, she’d probably still be stranded, surrounded by the walking dead and facing certain death. Instead, she was safe (relatively speaking) and speeding far away from the hoard she’d unwittingly managed to attract. Still, Sansa had her pride, and she’d be damned if she would admit to him that she knew he was right. Instead, she decided to give him the silent treatment, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Another moment passed, and she knew her plan failed when he said with a smug grin, “I can tell by the way you’ve clammed up all of a sudden that you know I’m right, so you can get over this whole silent-treatment bullshit and tell me your name.”

“Sansa,” she replied simply, still not wanting to talk to him, until her manners got the better of her, and she asked, “And you are?”

“Sandor,” he grunted, “And you’re welcome for saving you, by the way. You know. Whenever you want to say thank you.”

“I won’t thank you until I know what you plan on doing with me,” Sansa said, realizing for the first time that she was completely at the mercy of this stranger and his possible gang of thugs. For all she knew, she would have been better off with the zombies.

“What I plan on doing with you? If it had been up to me, we would have ignored your dumb ass and continued on our way. The only thing I want to do with you now is dump you off at the first opportunity. If Brienne will let me anyway.” Sandor had added that last bit with a shake of his head, obviously annoyed with whoever this ‘Brienne’ person was.

“So I don’t even owe you my gratitude?” Sansa asked with an eyebrow raised, “I mean, you said yourself you wouldn’t have saved me if you had the option. I think you should stop acting so high and mighty about it.”

“I still did it, didn’t I?” he asked her incredulously, “I think that should make you even more fucking grateful since I didn’t even want to.”

Another good point. Still, she would never thank a man so foul, no matter how much she owed him. Sansa crossed her arms and settled back in her seat, deciding to change the topic, “Where are you taking me?”

“To our safe house,” Sandor grumbled, “Another thing you should be grateful for. Brienne will meet us there, and she’ll decide what to do with you. Probably’ll ask you to join us. Not that you’d be much of an asset. Just another mouth to feed.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent scavenger, among other things. I could have proven it to you if you’d have let me go back for my car which is full of supplies,” Sansa remarked with a roll of her eyes, “And I can sew. I could even repair that ratty thing you probably call a coat.” Sansa could tell that the jacket he wore had once been white, but was now faded to grey and stained with all manner of what she could suppose were bodily fluids. Blood and gore were spattered on the parts of it that weren’t shredded and torn. It was certainly in rough shape, to the point where she wondered why he wore it at all.

“Hey fuck you,” Sandor said, obviously offended, “This thing has seen me through more than you’ve probably had to deal with in your sheltered little life, so you can stop talking shit any time.”

“Calm down. I was only making an observation. If you love it so much, then you should take me up on my offer. Then you’ll see I’m not useless after all,” Sansa sniffed, turning to gaze out the window. She hoped that they’d arrive at the safe house soon. Her current companion was nothing short of obnoxious and she could really use some different company.

Sandor’s only response was to snort, and then the two of them fell into a tense silence, which was just fine with Sansa. It was much more preferable to him speaking to her, spouting off all sorts of foul language. She couldn’t imagine that the kind of people who would stick around him would be much better, but she’d been on her own for long enough that she was actually getting desperate for company. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in ages, since there was no one to keep watch and every time she closed her eyes she was still on high alert. And with only herself to talk to, she’d started to feel herself getting a little stir crazy. She’d read once that prolonged isolation could make a person lose their sanity, and she’d been starting to think that there was something to that. However, she still wasn’t sold, and wanted to meet his group before she made any decisions.

Sure enough, they were out of the city limits within minutes and on their way into the country. Sansa probably should have done the same, parking on the side of a quiet road instead of an empty lot in town, another mistake she’d made. She watched the empty fields and trees fly by and tried to stop mentally kicking herself for her own stupidity. It was likely exhaustion getting the better of her more than anything, but if she wound up losing her Lady she still wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying and focused on the changing landscape instead.

Eventually they turned down a dirt road, the end of which had a large, dilapidated farmhouse, just as he’d said. Sansa wondered if it had been abandoned before the world had ended, and assumed she’d find out soon enough. It had been a long time since she’d gotten a good night’s sleep, and even longer since she’d slept on an actual bed. She hoped there would at least be a mattress or a couch that she could rest her head on still inside, though if it had been uninhabited long ago she doubted she’d get that lucky. Of course, she realized that she’d be lucky if it even stayed standing long enough for her to get a full eight hours. The closer they got, the more she could see the peeling paint and the fact that its foundation had settled unevenly, making it lean. Some of the windows were cracked, and the roof was clearly in an extreme state of disrepair.

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “Is that place even safe to occupy?”

“Not up to your high standards, eh, Miss Priss?” Sandor asked as he scoffed. She glanced over and saw him shaking his head, as he added, “Sorry it’s not a fucking five star hotel.”

“You can stop calling me ‘Miss Priss’ any time, thank you very much. And for your information, I’ve never stayed in a five star hotel. I’m just concerned for my safety, since it looks like it could fall over at any time,” Sansa snapped back, already tired of his dismissive attitude and insulting nickname.

“Well, we stayed there last night, and nobody died, so you can get your panties out of a twist any time, thank you very much,” he replied, clearly mocking her.

Obviously Sansa wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, and she decided it wasn’t productive to try to speak with him any longer. She was thankful their ride was almost over, and as soon as he parked she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door, pausing to turn to him and say, “You really don’t need to be so hateful.” Sandor’s mouth dropped open for a second, and she refused to give him a chance to respond, getting out and slamming the door shut.

Before she could even get her bearings, another car pulled up and parked, and she waited anxiously to see who would come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I know I said I planned on posting every Friday, but I realized that I wouldn't be able to do that this week as I will be on vacation! So, instead of skipping a week, I decided to just post the second chapter early. :) I'm sure that won't be too much of a problem for anyone lol Also, fun fact: this chapter was the first thing I wrote for this story. Kind of funny, but inspiration struck for the scene and I just had to write it down. And thus, a story was born.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and thanks in advance for any and all feedback! :)


	3. Chapter 3

You really don’t need to be so hateful.

Her words were unexpected, and the way she’d been looking at him with her deep, soulful blue eyes had made them pack a punch. It was the first time in a long time since anyone had called him on his bullshit in such a simple and eloquent way, and it had left him completely dumbfounded. He watched her through the window for a moment, wondering what to make of this woman whose life he’d just saved. Perhaps there was more to her than the privileged, uptight persona she’d presented to him.

Another moment passed, before he put his truck in park, turned the keys, and stepped out to join Brienne, who was already peppering the girl with questions.

“Are you hurt? Were you bitten?” she asked, her voice ripe with concern as her hands and eyes explored the redhead standing before her.

Sandor could see the tension in her shoulders as she took a step back and said stiffly, “I’m fine, thank you. Your friend saved me before anything could happen.”

He watched Brienne’s lip curl at the mention of him being her friend and shook his head, turning to walk inside. Let them work whatever arrangement out. It hadn’t been his idea to rescue the girl anyway. Brienne had insisted they help her, with Sandor fighting her the whole time. She’d told him to wait while she used her rifle to thin the herd, then when it was down to a manageable number, he was to move in and extract her. When he asked why they bothered with her at all, she’d told him if he couldn’t understand the value of a human life then there was no hope for him, before she found her way up to the roof of a nearby building.

While he’d huddled down and waited for his moment, he watched the young woman dive back into her car before pulling out a large hunting knife and killing a few of the dead. She looked like she could barely hold the thing in her hand, and for a moment he admired her for even trying. But then she’d slipped and fallen, causing him to have to spring into action before the time was right. Luckily, he was large enough and the zombies were weak enough that it had been simple to bowl them over and yank the one off of her. It still gripped a few strands of her gorgeous auburn hair in its hands and he had the fleeting thought that it was a shame, since it was her most striking feature.

Or at least, it had been, before he’d gotten to see her face.

Even with the tears on her cheeks, she was still beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than any woman he’d seen in his life, before or after the apocalypse. Everything about her was striking to him, and he felt a slight tug at his heartstrings, before she stared clawing at him, clearly trying to escape. Then it had all been downhill from there.

As soon as he made it through the door, Arya had hopped out of her seat, straightening her shirt as she exclaimed, “Where have you been? You guys took way longer than you said you would.” She’d been sitting next to Pod, who was blushing brightly, his hair mussed and his lips swollen. By the looks of it, the two of them had just been kissing, and quite a lot at that.

“We got held up rescuing some redheaded bitch who got herself surrounded by a hoard,” he said, rolling his eyes and moving to sit on the couch. He made a mental note to have a talk with Pod, warning him not to try anything stupid with Arya, or he’d have Sandor to answer to.

When she didn’t say anything, he looked over and saw her staring at him with an intense expression. He was about to ask her what was up, when she said quietly, “What’s her name?”

Sandor had to think about it for a minute, then it finally came to him, “Sansa is what she said, I think.”

Arya didn’t give him a chance to say anything else, because as soon as the word ‘Sansa’ left his lips, she tore off through the front door and out of the house. He looked to Pod, who only shrugged, and then the two of them heard loud screams coming from the yard.

Instinct told him that it was bad, as screaming was something you did when you were hurt or scared, and he leapt over the back of the couch to see what the commotion was. With his gun drawn, he clambered onto the porch just in time to see the little wolf-bitch and the redhead hugging each other and crying while Brienne watched with a bemused expression. She looked to him, her eyes a question, and he could only shrug the same as Pod.

That is, until he remembered a long ago conversation by the fireside. It had been the first time Arya had spoken to him after her family had been eaten alive. She’d said they were all she had left in the world as far as she knew. Tears had flowed freely as she listed off every family member she had and how they were all gone, with the exception of a sister who she never actually saw die.

‘Maybe she’s still out there, somewhere, looking for me, too. What do you think, Hound? Do you think she’s still alive?’ Arya had finally looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed and sad.

He never lied. It wasn’t in his nature. But she was making him go soft, and without thinking he said, ‘Could be. Could be she’s around here somewhere and we’ll run into her and she can join us.’

Of course, he hadn’t believed himself, but Sandor couldn’t crush her spirit any more than it already was. She was strong, but he could tell she was close to breaking, and he wanted to protect her at least for a little while longer. In all reality, her sister was probably long dead, just like the rest of her family. But he could let her believe the lie if it would get her through the next few weeks while she grieved.

Now, however, it seemed it hadn’t been a lie after all. He, Brienne, and Pod all watched as the two girls cried and spoke at such a high pitch that it made them unintelligible to human ears. Perhaps a dog would have been able to understand them. They waited patiently for it to end, but apparently they were going to go on for some time, so eventually Brienne cleared her throat, causing the two of them to finally jump apart.

“Perhaps it would be best to continue this inside,” Brienne said, gesturing for the girls to enter the house. Sandor moved to the side to let Arya and Sansa by, the former leading the latter by the hand. Neither looked at him or Pod as they passed and he felt a slight stab of jealousy. It appeared Arya no longer needed him now that she had her sister. Figured.

Pod, not knowing what else to do, followed them into the house, although he doubted they were interested in talking to him at all. That left Sandor and Brienne alone on the porch.

When he turned to her, she was giving him a smug grin and said, “See? I told you it was a good idea to save her.”

Sandor scoffed and said, “It’s not like it would have mattered either way. Arya never would have known if we hadn’t, and we wouldn’t have another mouth to feed.”

Brienne’s face twisted with anger as she said, “I can’t believe you. You really think it wouldn’t have mattered? You know how much Arya has missed her family and the fact that all you see when you look at Sansa is ‘just another mouth to feed’ proves to me that you’re nothing but a lost cause.”

“Fuck you, Brienne,” Sandor said, giving her shoulder a shove, “I don’t give a damn what you think about me. Someone has to be pragmatic here. We barely had enough supplies for the four of us, and with a fifth we’re going to have to do that many more supply runs, putting us in danger that many more times.”

Her mouth was agape for only a moment, before a thunderous scowl overtook her features and she said, “Clegane, I’m warning you, if you put your hand on me one more time, we’re going to have a problem.”

“What? Like this?” Sandor asked, giving her shoulder another push. He was in a foul mood, and didn’t like the way she’d goaded him. Who the fuck did she think she was?

She moved like lightning, and before he could react she had him in another headlock, just like the first time they’d met. As he struggled to get himself out of her grasp, she said, “Listen here. I know you don’t like me, and frankly I don’t like you either. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you disrespect me any longer.”

Brienne was perhaps the only person in all the world who could match his strength, and it infuriated him as she was all but humiliating him by wrestling him into submission as though he was a disobedient child. Sandor fought her for a moment, his fingers gripping into her arms, tugging to get himself loose, but they wouldn’t budge. Rather than give up, he decided on a new tactic, and reached one of his hands up behind them and gripped the back of her neck. A second later, he’d flipped her over and she landed on her back with a loud grunt, hitting the sidewalk in front of the porch hard.

It was his turn to look smug as he moved to stand over her and said, “How’s that for disrespectful?”

He didn’t have long to savor the moment, because Brienne was on her feet in a flash, and had apparently tired of using her words. As soon as she faced him, her fist flew and connected with his jaw, knocking him back a foot. When he looked at her, her fists were up and her expression said she was ready for a fight. “You asked for it, Clegane,” she snarled, her eyes watching him carefully, waiting for his next move, “Now, I’ll give you a chance to back down and apologize. If you can do that, then there’s no need for anymore fighting.”

“You want an apology? Here’s your apology,” he yelled, barreling towards her with a punch of his own. She dodged his initial blow, but wasn’t prepared for him to catch her opening and he landed a hit to her gut, knocking the wind out of her.

She wasn’t deterred for long, and the two of them fought back and forth, each landing hits and dodging others. It felt good to finally take out the aggression he’d been feeling towards her and her holier-than-thou attitude. Truth be told, it was almost cathartic, and he was starting to think that they were finally getting somewhere after being at odds for so long. Sandor had found that the best way for him to express himself was through violence, a fact he relished in the face of the destruction of the world. Now that killing was the rule, rather than the exception, he felt he could finally be himself.

‘You really don’t need to be so hateful.’

Blue eyes, and auburn hair flashed in his mind, and he was distracted, unsure as to why her words were coming back to him now.

Brienne, of course, took full advantage and landed two solid blows, knocking him on his ass, and the catharsis he had been feeling disappeared, his rage returning in full force.

Her breathing was heavy as she stared down at him, before she offered him a hand and said, “Look, we don’t have to like each other, but we have to try to get along, at least for them.” She jerked her head in the direction of the house, and he understood that she meant the others. He was about to say something, “And I mean Sansa as well. She’s staying with us, Clegane. No questions. That is, unless you want to lose Arya and Pod. Because there’s no way that Arya is going to leave her sister, and Pod has been following her around like a puppy dog for the last hundred miles or so. And I’m not leaving them, so the decision is up to you: go it alone, or come with us.”

Sandor hated ultimatums, especially coming from someone he respected so little. He almost considered telling her to fuck off and getting in his truck to leave, but he knew he couldn’t abandon Arya. She was the closest thing he had to family at this point, and he knew deep down he’d never forgive himself if he just discarded her like she meant nothing to him. Instead, he slapped her hand away from him and stood up on his own, stalking to the house without saying a word.

Pod looked startled as he banged the door open and stomped past him, timidly asking, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he grunted, waving a hand in the lad’s direction.

He made his way up the stairs, intending to head to the little room he’d claimed as his own to lick his wounds and try to quiet the need to continue punching things. However, when he got to the top of the stairs, he found Sansa alone, poking her head into the doorway of ‘his’ room. She was the last person he wanted to see, especially since she had been the reason Brienne had gotten the best of him, her words having come unbidden to his mind and distracting him from the fight.

He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she jumped three feet in the air before turning around with her hand over her heart, saying softly, “Oh! You scared me. I’m sorry, I was just looking around and I…” Sansa trailed off as soon as she got a look at his face, before springing into action, her small hand reaching up and saying, “What happened to you? It looks positively dreadful. I know a little first aid and I could fix you up if you’d like.”

As soon as her fingers came into contact with his skin, he felt like he’d been burned, and his hand wrapped around her wrist so he could pull her away from him. Her expression morphed from concerned to frightened, and distantly he knew he should feel guilty for scaring her, but was too consumed by his anger to care. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he sneered, dropping her wrist and pushing past her into the room he’d been occupying. He slammed the door behind him, no doubt startling her further.

Sandor leaned against it and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down some as he listened to her soft footsteps retreat down the hall and into what he imagined was Arya’s room.

After a few deep breaths, he felt composed enough to open his eyes and decided he should see the extent of the damage that Brienne had inflicted on his face. There was a mirror hanging over a dresser in the room, which, until this moment, he’d largely ignored, never having been a fan of his own reflection. Now, however, it came in handy as he inspected his face. There was a cut over his good eyebrow, probably what Sansa had been reaching for and offering to help with, along with several bruises and the beginnings of a black eye. Yes, he was certainly much the worse for wear, the injuries only making him uglier and probably all the more frightening to the girl.

After he cleaned himself up, he gave himself a long stare and wondered why she was having such an effect on him. It only took eight words for her to get under his skin, and it was already driving him nuts. Sandor could still feel the softness of the pads of her fingertips against his forehead and unconsciously he ran his own fingers over the spot she’d touched. It had been so natural for her to reach up to him, almost as though she were unbothered by his ugliness. However, he knew that wasn’t the case, based on how she’d looked at him a moment later when he’d all but shoved her away.

What was the matter with him?

Sandor shook all the ridiculous thoughts from his head and focused on the real issue, which was that Sansa had not proven herself to be anything other than dead weight to their little group. Someone had to be pragmatic, and the truth of the matter was, she would be another mouth to feed, another person to protect, and apparently a huge distraction for Sandor. It didn’t matter that she was Arya’s sister. If she couldn’t provide for the group in a meaningful way, she would only serve to drag them down. And the last thing anyone needed in the apocalypse was another way for them to die. He could just picture himself now, being eaten alive in an effort to rescue her from her own inability to take care of herself.

No, Sandor Clegane would not let this little chirping bird be his undoing.

With his resolve hardened, he decided it would be better to leave now than drag things out any longer. It was still early enough in the day that he could make good ground before sundown. He started to gather his things, shoving them haphazardly in his bag.

However, before he could get fully packed and sneak out the back entrance, there was an insistent knock at his door, followed by it opening without him giving an answer. Naturally, it was the wolf-bitch, as no one else would dare do that to him.

“Hound, come downstairs! Pod is making a special lunch to welcome Sansa to our pack and it wouldn’t be the same...without...you...” she trailed off, the excitement that had lit her eyes draining as she took in the situation. It didn’t take her more than a few seconds to figure out what he was trying to do, and he didn’t get a chance to explain himself before she launched into a tirade. “You’re leaving? Why? Do you really hate my sister that much? Or Brienne? Or is it me you can’t stand any longer? And you were just going to sneak off without saying goodbye? That’s a cowardly thing to do, and if you actually leave I swear I’ll never forgive you! Do you hear me? Never!”

Sandor opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door and stomping down the hallway to the stairs.

The one thing that had made him think twice about leaving had now just delivered the death blow to his plan, completely destroying the resolve he’d built up with only a few words. Sighing heavily, he returned his items to where he’d had them before, and slunk downstairs to join everyone for Sansa’s special lunch, no doubt insisted upon by the little priss.

He only hoped she liked canned food, because that was all they’d had to live on in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it feels so good! Well, sort of. Since it was from Sandor's perspective it was hard to get many of the details down, but don't worry! There will be plenty of sisterly goodness in the next chapter!
> 
> My vacation was great, but it really got me off track for writing this story, so now I really have to push myself to get back into the right headspace. It's been especially difficult since I got an idea for a oneshot on the plane that I really want to work on lol Oops! But more ideas are good, right? Better than none.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has been reading my story! It makes me so happy that people have been enjoying my little zombie AU. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Arya was alive.

Arya, her little sister—independent, loud-mouthed, lovable Arya—was actually alive.

Perhaps the Seven were listening to her prayers after all.

Sansa thought back to the last time she’d seen her sister, right before all the chaos that had taken the city when the dead started rising. It was summer, and they’d been in King’s Landing with their father, Ned, who had journeyed there for business. The two of them had accompanied him because he was encouraging them to go to the university there: Sansa to get a graduate degree, and Arya to even start college at all. He had seemed to think that if they saw the campus and how exciting life could be outside of Winterfell, it would encourage them to go.

Of course, Sansa had been elated, having always wanted to visit the southern parts of Westeros. Arya, on the other hand, was content to spend her days doing whatever she pleased and had no interest in continuing her education beyond high school. She’d been, in Sansa’s opinion, a brat the entire way there and during their stay in the city, never even visiting campus or the dorms. Instead, she spent all her time taking ‘dancing lessons’ from some strange man she’d met there.

It had been right before one of those ‘lessons’ that Arya and she had gotten into some stupid fight in their hotel suite, probably about a hair straightener or someone wearing someone else’s clothes. Sansa couldn’t remember. The only thing she could remember was Arya screaming, ‘I hate you!’ before running out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Sansa screamed, ‘I hate you back!’ to the door, even though she hadn’t really meant it.

Then, the world had started to fall apart, with swarms of living corpses roaming the streets, ready to attack and cannibalize anyone in their path.

Sansa and Ned had been trying to get to Arya, along with Ned’s business associate, Petyr Baelish, when they’d been cornered by one such group. Rather than letting his daughter die, he’d sacrificed himself so they could escape. She’d screamed and cried and tried to get to him, and Baelish had to pick her up and carry her to get her out of the city.

The memory made her shudder, and she quickly returned to the present, where Arya was tugging her hand and leading her through the rickety farmhouse they’d taken residence in. As she pulled her up the stairs, every single step creaked under their weight and Sansa got the distinct impression that the house could fall apart at any second. Still, it was better than the cramped interior of her car, and she tried to concentrate on the positives as she was dragged through a doorway and into a small room which only contained a bed, a dresser with some miscellaneous items on it, and a backpack overflowing with clothes.

Even though her group had only gotten here yesterday, Arya had already overtaken the bedroom and made it her own. Sansa was still amazed at her sister’s ability to come into a space and infect it with her larger than life personality. It had been one of the things Sansa had hated about her when they were younger, but now she all but bathed in the air of the room, happy to be with family once more after so long.

The two of them plopped down on the bed together, crossing their legs as they each said simultaneously, “Tell me everything!” That caused them to erupt into a fit of giggles, and for the first time in ages Sansa actually felt true joy welling up within her. It almost seemed like a dream.

Once their laughter had subsided, Sansa leaned forward and grabbed Arya’s hands, saying, “It’s so good to see you. I can’t believe you’re alive. I’m so sorry for what I said before.”

“Me too,” Arya replied, giving her hands a squeeze, “I looked back on it and cringed every time I thought about it. I swore if I ever saw you again I would say sorry. So, sorry. For everything.”

“It’s fine, obviously. This isn’t exactly the time to be holding grudges,” Sansa said, giving her a once over and changing the subject, “So, you cut your hair.”

Arya chuckled a little and ran her fingers through the short, brown locks, saying, “I had a run-in with a zombie. After it caught me by the hair, I knew I needed to get rid of it. Too much of a risk.”

“Well, it looks great. Really suits you,” Sansa said, her thoughts drifting to her own encounter this morning and thinking that perhaps there was something to that logic.

“Thanks, I think so too,” she replied, then switched topics, “So, tell me everything! How did you get out of the city? Where’s Dad?”

At that, Sansa’s heart sank. How could she tell her that Ned had perished a long time ago? She chewed on her lip for a moment, willing herself not to cry as she said, “He didn’t make it. He died so that I could escape King’s Landing.”

The small flicker of hope in Arya’s eyes died out and she could tell that her sister was fighting tears as she said softly, “Oh. I guess I should have figured.”

“Have you heard anything from Mom or Robb? Maybe they’re still alive,” Sansa said, trying to lighten the mood a little.

It was Arya’s turn to look sympathetic as she wiped the tears from her eyes and said, “Mom and Robb are dead. I tried to get to them at Grandpa’s and we arrived just in time to see everyone get ripped to pieces. Since then, we’ve been trying to get to the Eyrie to see if Aunt Lysa is still alive.”

Ah. That explained how the two of them had wound up in the same area. It was only inevitable that they’d cross paths, since they were each going to where the other had been. Sansa had been trying to head to the closest place that would be safe for her once she’d fled the Vale, and that had been her grandfather’s estate.

“You know something, don’t you?” Arya asked, breaking her train of thought, “She’s dead, too, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think,” Sansa said, not wanting to tell this particular story, “She was killed by Petyr Baelish. He helped me escape King’s Landing and decided the best thing would be to go to the Eyrie because Petyr assumed zombies couldn’t survive in the mountains. We found Aunt Lysa alive, holed up and surviving as best she could with our cousin and her staff.

“The house is located up on a hill as you know, and it’s not an easy climb so there weren’t too many zombies. She also had a lot of supplies. Apparently, she was a doomsday prepper, although she never told any of us that. Things were good for a while. But then, Petyr started turning the staff against Aunt Lysa and Robert, saying that she was unstable and he was too sickly to survive so we shouldn’t be wasting resources on him. When he suggested that she mercy kill him, she freaked out—understandably so—and he used that as evidence that she was dangerous and deranged. He ordered the staff to kill Robert, and when they did, she came after Petyr who killed her in ‘self-defense.’

“I couldn’t watch, and I ran away, not sure what to do. He followed me and cornered me in my room, telling me that he did it for me, for us. He insisted that he only wanted to keep me safe, and tried to kiss me. It was horrible, and I fled that night. I figured taking my chances alone would be better than with him. I knew that the staff was loyal to him now, so I didn’t have a chance at getting justice for Aunt Lysa. It was easier just to go. I was trying to make it to Grandpa’s, but I guess there’s no point in going there now.”

Sansa watched Arya’s face carefully, seeing her grow more enraged by the second. When she finished, it took her no time to reply, her outraged voice ringing out, “I’ll go to the Eyrie and kill that fucking piece of shit myself!”

“I know how you feel, but it’s not worth it. There’s too much going on in the world, and wasting our time on revenge won’t keep us alive,” Sansa replied tiredly, having pushed aside such thoughts long ago. When she’d watched him throw Lysa from the balcony, it had been difficult not to do the same to him, but she’d been weaker then. Now, she was just exhausted from trying to keep herself alive, and she knew that nothing would bring back all the people she’d lost, not even killing Petyr Baelish.

“I just don’t know where else to go. At least if we go there, we’ll have someplace where we can set up camp, maybe make a life for ourselves. And if we can get revenge on the fuckface, all the better,” Arya said with a shrug. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on them, staring off at the wall.

Sansa’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and she didn’t know what she could say to make Arya feel better. She scooted over and put her arm around her shoulders, hoping she could comfort her in some way. Arya leaned into her, and they sat silently like that for some time, each processing their grief at the things they’d learned. It seemed they’d both been hoping for too much in thinking their family members might still be alive. They were all each other had left in the world now and that was an incredibly sobering revelation.

Eventually, Sansa felt the need to stretch her legs, and also had to use the bathroom. When she told Arya, she was directed down the hall to the room right next door where there was actually working plumbing. The farmhouse had its own septic tank, so the toilet still worked, and Sansa relieved herself quickly, happy to be using a real toilet for the first time in ages. Afterwards, she started taking a look around upstairs, wanting to see the rest of the house.

She’d just peeked her head into the room at the end of the hall when she heard a throat clearing behind her, causing her to jump. Turning quickly, she saw it was only Sandor and said, “Oh! You scared me. I’m sorry, I was just looking around and I…”

His face looked even worse than it had just a half hour ago. Somehow between the last time she’d seen him and now, he’d gotten into some sort of scuffle, and had several bruises on his face and a cut above his eyebrow. Without thinking, she reached up to touch it, saying, “What happened to you? It looks positively dreadful. I know a little first aid and I could fix you up if you’d like.”

Her fingers had just brushed his skin, which was surprisingly soft, when his hand shot up and wrapped around her wrist tightly, though not painfully, and pulled her hand away from him. It startled her, and she recoiled as he glared down at her and snarled, “Keep your hands to yourself.” He shoved past her into what was likely his room and slammed the door behind him, blocking her out.

What an awful man. She’d only been trying to help, and he’d all but assaulted her. Sansa had no idea how Arya had found herself in his company and hoped that the two of them could leave him behind as soon as possible.

When she went back into Arya’s room, she immediately said, “That Sandor is a real piece of work. How can you stand him?”

A slow smile spread across her face as she said, “So you’ve met the Hound, eh? I promise, his bark is much worse than his bite. At least when it comes to people he likes. He won’t hurt you.”

“Even so, he’s still got a serious attitude. I can’t stand him already, and I’ve barely known him more than a couple hours,” Sansa said, crossing her arms and scowling.

“Look, just give him a chance. He’s better than he seems. You just need to get to know him,” Arya said, jumping up off the bed and grabbing Sansa by the elbow, “Let’s go downstairs so you can meet Brienne and Pod.”

With that she was whisked off again, this time down the creaky stairs and into the living room, where a young man with dark hair in a bun and a beard—probably Pod—was talking softly to Brienne. The two of them were huddled around a camp stove, from which was emanating the smell of cooked food. Even though it wasn’t exactly gourmet, it would be the first hot meal she’d had since she left the Vale and already Sansa’s mouth was watering at the thought.

The two of them stood and turned when Arya and she got to the bottom of the stairs, and after introductions were made Arya asked, “What’s all this, Pod?”

“Well, I thought since it was such a special occasion with your sister being back and all that I would try to make a nice meal to celebrate and welcome her to the group,” Pod said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks pink.

Sansa watched as he and Arya shared a meaningful look, and she got the sense that there was something going on between the two of them. Making a mental note to ask Arya about it later, she said, “Thank you so much for thinking of me, Pod. I appreciate you going to all that trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. Honestly, it’s not much at all,” he said, stepping aside to reveal some pasta floating inside a pot of boiling water. When he saw the question in their eyes, he held up two white packets and said, “It’s only boxed macaroni and cheese, but I thought if we added some canned chili to it that might make it seem a little more elevated. It’s not much, but it’s something. And for dessert, we’ll have canned peaches.”

It was more than she deserved and certainly more than she expected as a newcomer and she felt very grateful that he’d gone to such an effort for her, though she suspected it was more for Arya. With a gracious smile, Sansa said, “It’s wonderful. I’m sure it’s going to taste delicious. I can’t wait.”

Pod grinned back, his eyes darting to Arya for a second, before he turned back to the pot and continued to tend to his cooking. It was then that Brienne cleared her throat, going over to Sansa and saying, “I do hope you’ll be staying with us. We could always use an extra set of hands. Anything you can offer will be much appreciated.”

“Well, actually, I’m really good at scavenging. And I have a bit of first aid knowledge, as well as being able to sew,” Sansa said, wanting to make sure Brienne knew she wouldn’t just be tagging along with them weighing them down.

“Excellent,” Brienne said with a small smile, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for them to do the same, “So, has Arya briefed you on our plan?”

“Actually, it sounds like our plan is a bust,” Arya piped up from beside Sansa on the loveseat. She explained everything, with Brienne looking more horrified by the minute.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Sansa. It must have been awful,” Brienne said sympathetically, then her expression hardened as she continued, “Although that’s not good news for us either. We don’t exactly have a plan B.”

“I say we keep going and take the Eyrie back from that bastard!” Arya exclaimed, her hands balled into little fists.

“With what army? You said so yourself that the staff has turned completely loyal to Baelish, and he has the apparent advantage when it comes to terrain. Realistically, we’d probably just die trying,” Brienne said with a heavy sigh and a shake of her head.

“At least we’d get a shot at him! That’s worth something isn’t it?” Arya retorted, seeming for the first time since Sansa had arrived, as though she hadn’t matured at all in their time apart.

“Not if we lose our lives and he doesn’t,” Sansa said softly, rubbing Arya’s arm absently, imagining losing her as well to Petyr Baelish’s hands.

“Well, then, what should we do? Where can we go, huh?” Arya asked defensively, her eyes flashing angrily.

Where could they go? Further south wasn’t really an option as far as she knew. If it was, Arya probably would have stuck around there. And now that she knew Riverrun was no longer habitable, she was truly at a loss. The only place that Sansa wanted to go was home to Winterfell.

Winterfell.

If anywhere would be safe, it would be their family home. Once it had been a castle, and her parents had opted to keep the original walls intact, doing the necessary maintenance to make sure they were sturdy and would stay upright for another thousand years. Within the walls was their estate, with plenty of land that could be used for crops, and a greenhouse that would allow for them to grow food year-round. It would be perfect.

“Let’s go back home,” Sansa said, turning to Arya excitedly, “Think about it. There are high walls to keep zombies out, and more than enough space for each of us.”

“But it’s so far,” Arya argued, “We might never make it. And what if we go all that way only to find out it’s already been taken over by some other group? Or what if it’s been destroyed?”

“Do you have a better idea? Don’t you miss it, Arya? I do,” her voice was breathless as she thought of the last time she saw it, her mother and brothers waving goodbye to them as they headed off on their little adventure. Sansa’s chest was tight, and she put her hand over her heart as she said, “It’s the best option. Better than trying to take back the Eyrie or staying holed up here in this farmhouse forever. We belong in Winterfell. That’s where we should go.”

Arya chewed on her lip, thinking about it for a moment. Another beat, and then she looked to Brienne, asking, “What do you think?”

Brienne ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair and looked doubtful, saying, “It is a long way. Farther than we’d planned on going. A lot could go wrong.”

“The risk is worth the reward we’ll get at the end. We just need to have faith,” Sansa said, trying not to let her hopes get up too high.

“The Hound should be here,” Arya said suddenly, hopping off the couch, “If we’re going to make a big decision like this, we should all agree to it. I’ll go get him.”

“Perfect timing. Lunch is almost ready,” Pod said, giving her a smile and a soft pat on the shoulder as she passed by, another hint that there was something going on. She and Brienne shared a knowing look, and she wondered if Arya had ever confessed anything to her.

She and Brienne chatted idly while they waited for Sandor to join them. In that time she learned that the other woman was actually from Tarth, and had no hopes of seeing her home again. “I only hope my father is safe and well. Perhaps being on an island is actually advantageous, as long as no one who was infected managed to get there and turn,” she said with a sigh.

Sansa was going to reply, but Arya had reappeared, a deep scowl on her face. She resumed her position next to her on the loveseat without saying a word, her arms folded across her chest, her body humming with suppressed anger.

However, before she could ask Arya what was wrong, Sandor appeared at the top of the stairs and plodded his way down slowly. Even though Sansa had gotten the impression that the two of them were friends, neither of them would look at each other as he finally joined them, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from Brienne.

The tension was palpable, and she had a feeling their discussion was not going to go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the Stark sisters back together again! Although it was a pretty bittersweet reunion. But now they have each other, so hopefully it'll be smooth sailing from here. Maybe. We'll see how the next chapter goes!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's read my story and found some kind of enjoyment out of it. I appreciate that I can share my story with everyone. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Sandor couldn’t and wouldn’t look at Arya when he finally joined the rest of them downstairs. His guilt at attempting to abandon her was still too real, and he had a feeling she was still far too angry with him anyway. Everyone in the room was quiet, apparently able to sense the tension between the two of them. The only sounds he heard as he sat on the couch opposite Brienne were coming from Pod in the kitchen as he continued preparing whatever lunch he’d whipped up to celebrate Sansa joining them.

His eyes flicked over to her and found her watching him silently, averting her gaze immediately when their eyes locked. Sandor wondered what she was thinking, then reminded himself that he didn’t actually care.

Brienne took the opportunity to speak, once again assuming the leader role she’d assigned herself, “Sandor, we were just discussing what our next move was going to be.”

“Our next move? We’re going to the Vale. What else is there to discuss?” Sandor asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Actually, there’s been a bit of a change in plans. Sansa was telling us—” Brienne started, but he didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Sansa was telling you what, exactly? That she doesn’t like the Vale? Mountain air too thin for her delicate sensibilities, is that it?” Sandor sneered, giving her a glare. She’d been here less than twelve hours and already she was derailing not only his thoughts, but their already carefully thought out plans as well. What was next? Would she start rifling through his things, too, reorganizing his pack?

“You are just impossible!” Sansa huffed, getting off the loveseat, “I’m going to see if Pod needs any help in the kitchen. Brienne, you already know what I want to do.”

Sandor watched her back as she disappeared into the other room, her long copper hair trailing behind her. It still looked soft and silky in spite of probably not having been washed in a while, and he imagined what it might feel like under his fingers. That is, until he reminded himself that he didn’t care what her hair felt like.

“I’m not sure what you have against the girl, but I think you need to ease off her, Clegane. If you would have let me finish, you would know that she just left from the Vale where a man named Petyr Baelish murdered her cousin and aunt right in front of her. He’s currently in possession of Eyrie, and would likely not welcome us with open arms,” Brienne explained, her face filled with stern disapproval.

“Ah,” he said simply, feeling even guiltier than before. Arya still wouldn’t look at him, and now she probably liked him even less with the way he’d just talked to her sister.

“So, with that being said, we were trying to come up with a new plan. We need somewhere to settle down, and Sansa suggested that we go to hers and Arya’s family home of Winterfell,” Brienne said, watching him carefully.

The North was much further than he wanted to travel. It would probably take them weeks, with all the different obstacles they’d run into. Many of the main roads were littered with vehicles, so they would often have to take side roads, or try to move them out of the way to clear a path. And then there was the living dead which they would have to contend with. If they came across a hoard they’d have to lay low until it had passed, which usually took a couple days, and then they had to go out of their way to avoid running into it again. That, too, would add time to their trip. Overall, it seemed more like a death sentence than a viable option.

“We can’t. It’s way too far. We’d never make it,” Sandor stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, that’s where we’re going. You don’t have to come. But that’s the plan,” Arya said, finally looking at him, her gaze defiant, as though she expected him to challenge her.

“Now, we hadn’t actually agreed to it yet,” Brienne began, holding her hands up, her expression confused.

“Sansa was right. It’s the best option. And if the Hound here doesn’t like it, that’s too bad,” Arya interrupted, her trademark stubbornness out in full force. He had no idea how so many hard-headed people wound up traveling together.

Knowing he’d get nowhere with her, he turned to Brienne and asked, “Are you really on board with this?”

“The longer I think about it, the more it’s starting to sound appealing. After all, there are fewer people in the North, which means fewer zombies and a higher likelihood that Winterfell has been left alone. And it would be a very defensible fortress, if the pictures I’ve seen are accurate.”

“They are,” Arya interjected, her statement made towards Brienne, though her hard eyes never left him.

“Then I think it’s worth the journey. Plus, I’ve heard rumors that zombies are slower in the cold, making them easier to deal with as well, if that’s true,” she said, then added, “So, to answer your question, yes, I guess I’m on board.”

“So it’s settled, then. We’re going, with or without you,” Arya said, rising off the loveseat and leaving the room to join Pod and Sansa in the kitchen.

That left him and Brienne alone, and he wondered how long it would take her to ask what was going on, her being far too nosy for her own good.

Not long apparently, as she said, “What’s the deal with you two?”

Brienne was the last person he wanted to talk to about his personal life—what little there was, anyway—but he didn’t exactly have anyone else at the moment. With a sigh, he said, “She caught me trying to sneak out of here. I was going to leave. Seemed like the best option. Apparently, she took offense to that.”

She hummed in understanding and looked thoughtful, before saying hesitantly, “For what it’s worth, I don’t actually want to see you go, no matter what I said before, or what differences we have. You’re a good fighter, and I know Arya looks up to you. It would be a shame if you were to leave over a little scuffle.”

Sandor wanted to tell her that it wasn’t about their fight, or how annoying he found her, or anything to do with her at all. Rather, it had to do with a certain redhead they’d rescued only hours ago, and how she was slowly worming her way into his brain, which repelled him immensely. However, he had no way to verbalize those feelings, and instead, remained silent.

When he didn’t reply, she leaned over and put a tentative hand on his shoulder and said, “Just think about it.”

Before he could push her away, Pod appeared in the doorway, his face a puzzle as he took in the scene in front of him. They rarely interacted with one another in a friendly manner, so he had no doubt the lad was surprised to see them in such an intimate position. “Lunch is ready, if you’d like to join us at the table…” he said slowly, still staring at Brienne’s hand on his shoulder.

“Of course,” she said, standing and pushing past Pod into the dining room.

Sandor rose as well, following Pod into the room and tried to figure out where to sit. Arya was on one side of the table, with Pod moving to sit beside her. Brienne was at the head, and Sansa was seated across from Arya and adjacent to the other head of the table. Either way, he would have to sit next to her.

He gritted his teeth, and took his place across from Brienne, staring holes into the table as Pod placed piping hot bowls of macaroni and cheese topped with canned chili in front of them, along with another, smaller bowl containing a few peach slices. Sansa’s hand rested on the table, only a few inches from his, and he thought back to when she’d brushed his forehead earlier. Her skin had felt soft, and he wondered if it would feel that way against his fingertips as well. That is, until he reminded himself that he didn’t care about what her skin felt like. He moved his hands to his lap instead.

Once they were all served, she spoke up, saying, “Thank you so much, Pod. Truly, I’m so grateful for your hospitality. It smells divine.”

“You’re welcome, but it really wasn’t any bother. It’s the least I could do,” he said, smiling softly, one of his hands under the table, probably resting on Arya’s leg.

“Well, it’s lovely. I can’t wait to dig in. Shall I say a few words in prayer first?” Sansa asked, folding her delicate hands in front of her, and closing her eyes.

The rest of them shifted in their seats uncomfortably, not accustomed to praying before their meals. However, she seemed oblivious to their discomfort as she started thanking both the old gods and the new for their food, as well as for sending Sandor and Brienne to her in her time of need, and reuniting her with her beloved sister, Arya. Overall, it was sweet, and they listened intently until it was over.

Afterwards, they all ate in silence which was only broken by someone making an occasional noise of appreciation. Sandor had to hand it to the young man. He had a way about making even the worst ingredients taste like a quality meal, probably because he’d been training to be a chef before all the chaos. Still, it was a rare gift to make a meal that made them feel like they were human again for just a moment, allowing them to block out all the shit from the outside world.

A few more minutes passed, and Sandor noticed out of the corner of his eye that Sansa had stopped eating and was staring around at them expectantly. He didn’t have to wait long to find out why, because a second later she asked, “So, did you guys decide anything then?”

“Ah, yes, I think we’re all agreed that Winterfell is the best option,” Brienne said, smiling, then turned to Pod, who had yet to voice his opinion one way or the other, “You’re okay with it, right?”

“Of course. I don’t really have anywhere else to go, so wherever you lead, I’ll follow,” he replied, truly one of the most easy-going people to have survived for so long.

“And are we _all_ agreed?” Arya asked pointedly, turning to look at Sandor with another glare.

He wondered how long she’d hold a grudge. Knowing her stubbornness, she would likely be slow to forgive. With a sigh, he said, “Yes, we’re all agreed.”

She stared at him for another moment, before saying simply, “Good,” and going back to her food.

The rest of their meal was punctuated by idle chatter, and then it was over. Sansa helped in clearing their plates, apparently the complete opposite of her sister when it came to her manners. She flitted about the table, almost like a little hummingbird, quickly gathering dishes, never lingering too long, all the while chirping her little pleasantries and ‘excuse me’s. He left before she could get near him again.

Instead, Sandor skulked back to his room, deciding to spend the rest of the afternoon thinking of ways he could get the wolf-bitch to forgive him sooner. He knew it would take some work, perhaps more than it was worth, if he was being honest. Somehow, though, she was the only person he could actually talk to in this godsforsaken little group he’d found himself in, so if he couldn’t win back her favor, he’d be without conversation for some time. It wasn’t like he was a particularly social man, but not having anyone would eventually take its toll on him. That was part of what had compelled him to take her in in the first place.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he contemplated what he could do to make it up to her for trying to leave without so much as a goodbye. Sandor definitely wasn’t a man of many words, so apologizing didn’t feel like an option. It would probably come out all wrong and only make her angrier, especially because the reasons he’d been trying to leave in the first place still felt like good ones. He wouldn’t lie to her and pretend otherwise.

Sandor slumped backward and laid on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, putting his hands behind his head. How did one apologize without words? Obviously it would have to be a gesture of some kind, to show her that he still cared and that his escape attempt wasn’t because he wanted to leave her behind. However, there wasn’t a lot he could do out here to show her that he felt bad.

Eventually, his mind drifted to a small package shoved at the very bottom of his bag: a knife, with an ornately carved hilt that had a wolf’s head at the end. Arya had seen it inside a weapon shop they’d been searching for guns and bullets. While it had been largely picked over, there was a glass case which had been locked and left undisturbed that was full of blades, including that one. Sandor could tell they were mostly just for show, and wouldn’t actually be useful against the living dead. But she’d seen and fallen in love with the wolf blade, and had tried her hardest to pick the lock on the outside of the case. They didn’t dare break it for fear of disturbing the zombies who were just outside.

However, she’d slipped, hurt herself, and yelled a curse word which alerted them to their presence within. As they banged their desiccated hands against the glass windows of the store, Sandor and Arya had made a quick getaway out the back. He could tell she was disappointed to leave the knife behind, so to surprise her, he’d gone back for it and managed to get it without losing his life. It was stupid, and the only way he could explain his actions was to acknowledge that she actually meant something to him, a surprising revelation.

It was significant, and he knew that would probably be the best way to show her he was sorry. Sandor had been waiting for her nameday, which she’d said was coming up soon, but now was probably a better time. He pulled himself off the bed, dug the knife out of his pack, slid it in his pocket, and headed downstairs.

Arya and Sansa were sitting on the couch, talking to one another while Pod listened raptly and Brienne stared out the window, likely watching for zombies.

“Arya, could I talk to you outside?” Sandor asked awkwardly, feeling scrutinized as everyone turned to look at him.

She looked like she wanted to say no, but instead, she said, “I guess.” Hopping off the couch, she walked to the front door and he followed behind her, the two of them standing on the porch together. There was a warm, autumn breeze running through it, ruffling her short hair as she waited expectantly for him to say something.

Sandor knew she’d stand there all day until he spoke, so he tried to come up with the right words, eventually saying, “I know you’re still angry with me.”

“You think?” Arya shot back, her arms folded over her chest, an eyebrow raised derisively.

“You’re not exactly good at hiding how you feel,” he said with a chuckle, then continued, “Not saying I don’t deserve it. I just want you to understand that it wasn’t personal.”

“Sure felt that way,” she said, turning away from him and leaning against the rail, choosing to gaze into the countryside instead of face him any longer.

“Well, it wasn’t. Anyway, I was waiting until your nameday to give you this, but I thought it would be better to let you have it now,” Sandor said, still not able to quite get a proper apology out. Instead, he fished the knife that was wrapped in newspaper out of his pocket, handing it over to her.

“Trying to buy back my loyalty, eh?” Arya said with a sneer, clearly not impressed, “It’ll take a lot more than some shiny trinket you found in the garbage to make me hate you less.” He almost thought she wouldn’t take it, but after a beat she snatched it out of his hand and started tearing into the paper. Sandor wondered if she’d forgotten about the blade, but when the paper was all ripped away, the recognition that shown in her eyes told him she still remembered.

As she turned it over in her hands, he waited for her to say something, but she was silent. Maybe she hadn’t wanted it that badly after all. His doubts were appeased when she hugged him suddenly, throwing her arms around his waist. Apparently, she understood the weight of this gesture. Sandor rarely did things for others, especially when they went against logic. And going back for some useless trinket wasn’t at all rational. He’d done it for her, and she knew that.

Sandor returned her embrace, patting her on the top of the head, glad that his gift had had the intended effect. Hopefully now she’d never doubt that he cared for her. Arya was like family to him, like the little sister he never got a chance to have.

It didn’t take long for her to pull away, her being about as good at showing affection as he was. She quickly scrubbed at her eyes, and he realized she’d cried a little, which touched him. However, the moment didn’t last much longer, as she said, “I still haven’t forgiven you yet. But soon.” Then she turned on her heel, and walked back into the house, leaving him dumbfounded and alone on the porch.

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at her stubbornness, shaking his head at her insistence at holding the grudge even though she so clearly had let it go. She’d probably planned on being mad at him until they got to Winterfell, and now she could no longer do that. Ah well. In a few days, things would be back to normal.

Well, almost.

As he looked through the window, he caught sight of Sansa, staring at him once again. And, as soon as he caught her, she looked away quickly, her cheeks tinged pink. Sandor wondered why she’d been watching him, and felt his own face heating up at the thought of her witnessing his moment with Arya. For some reason, the idea that she’d know he had a soft side both delighted him and made him appalled. Perhaps she hadn’t seen it, and had merely been looking out for the view. He could only hope.

When he re-entered the farmhouse a couple minutes later, Brienne caught him and said, “We’re leaving for Winterfell tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

He gave her a stiff nod, and moved to go back up to his room, when Sansa spoke up from her spot on the couch, saying, “Is it possible to go back into town so I could pick up my car?”

“I don’t see why not. The more vehicles we have, the better,” Brienne replied with a smile.

“The more vehicles we have, the more gas we’ll have to scavenge,” Sandor pointed out, not wanting to have to go out of his way to get even more fuel than they already needed.

“True, but then we’ll have a back-up in case one breaks down,” Brienne retorted, obviously not going to take any of his arguments into consideration.

“Plus, I have a lot of supplies in there. Food, medical stuff, clothes, tools…” Sansa trailed off, also not going to let anyone dissuade her from getting her precious little car back.

“Then I think that’s settled. First we’ll get your car, then hit the road for Winterfell,” Brienne said, “Clegane, you can escort her there.”

Sandor gritted his teeth to keep himself from telling her off. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped in his truck with Sansa, but he couldn’t exactly say no, since he didn’t have a real reason not to. Instead, he sighed, said he’d do it, then disappeared up the stairs before any more demands could be made of him.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He’d better start resting up now if he was going to get through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another installment to the zombie AU! Got in some more good Sandor & Arya feels. :) It's been nice to be able to explore a different side of Sandor (the more paternal/big brother side of him) and I'm glad you're all enjoying it as well!
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who's taken a chance on my story and shown it some love! I really appreciate it. :)


	6. Chapter 6

It was late, and extremely dark, the room Sansa laid in not even illuminated by moonlight. She could barely see anything as she stared off to the side with wide-open eyes, unable to fall asleep. Arya, on the other hand, was sleeping like a rock and breathing softly beside her. Where it would have annoyed her before, instead she found it comforting to have her so near. She only felt a little guilty, as she could tell Pod had been a bit disappointed that she and not he would be the one sharing a bed with Arya this evening. He’d hid it well, up until it was time for everyone retire that night, and she’d seen him watch her go up the stairs longingly. It was cute, and she found herself rooting for them.

And it seemed Pod wasn’t the only one who’d grown to have some kind of affection for Arya. Sansa, not able to help herself, had watched hers and Sandor’s exchange on the porch that afternoon. She hadn’t known what to expect out of the gruff, unfriendly man, and had wanted to make sure that if her sister had needed backup, she’d be able to go to her side quickly. However, just the opposite had happened. He’d given her something, which Sansa later learned was a knife of all things, and she’d embraced him, obviously moved by the gift.

When they’d hugged, Sansa had felt a pang of jealousy for some reason that she couldn’t quite explain. Rather than examine those feelings, she’d simply chalked it up to the fact that Arya had grown close with someone else while she’d been absent. She’d been worried—no, not worried, curious—about whether or not Sandor also had romantic feelings for her sister, but when she’d watched more closely, she could see the look on his face resembled more the expression her father had when he’d looked at his daughters. It was clear that he saw her as more of a daughter, or a little sister, and not at all as a woman. Then she’d felt relieved, another feeling she couldn’t explain and frankly didn’t want to.

In truth, she didn’t know what to make of the whole situation. It was so far from what she’d originally thought Sandor was like. Outwardly, he’d seemed, rude, cold, selfish, and crass, not at all the person she’d seen holding Arya while she’d cried into his t-shirt. The look on his face had been tender and open, obviously glad that she had forgiven him for whatever had happened between the two of them. It had made him seem more human. Apparently there was more than met the eye when it came to him, and she felt compelled to learn more, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Perhaps she’d get a chance tomorrow when they’d be alone together trying to get her car back, another thing that was keeping her up. Just the thought of Lady out there all alone where any scavenger could take her was making her anxious. It felt like ages since she’d last seen her, and she hoped that nothing had happened to her while she’d been away.

Sansa also hoped that Sandor wouldn’t give her too much more trouble over getting the vehicle. She’d been able to tell from his tone and the look on his face that he was totally against retrieving her car. He probably thought it was a waste of time and resources, much like he thought of her. Rather than living up to his expectations, she was eager to prove him wrong, both about her and about Lady. By this time tomorrow, she was determined to have shown him that she had been worth rescuing and would be a valuable addition to his little crew.

Sighing, she turned over on her side and tried to push all the intrusive thoughts out of her mind. She needed to get some sleep if she was going to be alert and at a hundred percent tomorrow. Anything less, and Sandor would probably think he was right about her, and Sansa couldn’t have that. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize tomorrow going well, a technique she’d learned in a class she’d taken on becoming more confident. In her mind’s eye, she conjured an image of herself standing beside Lady, a confident grin on her face. Sandor stood beside her, clearly sheepish, admitting that he was wrong about her. It was a very satisfying mental image, and she drifted off with a smile on her face.

The next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake, a large hand on her shoulder moving her around roughly. When she opened her eyes, the same face she’d fallen asleep thinking about was hovering over her, though it looked much less pleasant than it had in her imaginings. Instead of sheepish, the real-life version of Sandor looked irritated with her already, though she couldn’t imagine why.

Before she could say anything to him, he said, “Time to get up, princess. With this group, we don’t sleep in, so get moving. We need to leave soon if we’re going to make good time today.”

And then he was gone, his hulking frame disappearing through the doorway and into the hall. Sansa turned over to ask Arya what his problem was, only to find that her sister was gone, likely having slipped out of bed long ago. It was unlike her to be an early riser, and Sansa couldn’t help but wonder what else about Arya had changed while they’d been apart.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she sat for a moment and scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, still a little groggy. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon, casting the small bedroom in a rosy glow. It was probably between five and six in the morning if Sansa had to guess. Sandor wasn’t kidding when he said they didn’t sleep in. She hadn’t gotten up this early in ages, not since before things had fallen apart. She had no doubt she’d get used to it soon enough, but at the moment she was going to have to try to push through her exhaustion to make it through the day.

It took her very little time to get ready to leave, as all of her things had been left behind with Lady. Beyond weaving her hair into a braid, and putting on her jacket and shoes, there wasn’t much else for her to do. She would have cleaned up Arya’s things, but they were already packed and gone, another uncharacteristic action. Not wanting to be seen as lazy, she made her way downstairs to see if Pod or Brienne would need help taking care of the rest of their supplies.

Unlike Sandor, the two of them greeted her warmly when she entered the living room, almost as though she’d always been a part of the group. Sansa was thankful that she wouldn’t have to work to win them over like she would a certain surly someone. Pod offered her a granola bar out of his pack for breakfast, which she took gladly, making a mental note to give him one in return once she got her supplies back. It wasn’t much, but it satisfied the rumblings in her stomach, and then she got to work, taking Brienne’s instructions to start looking around the house for anything useful they could take before leaving.

Sansa was glad to be able to put her scavenging skills to work, and quickly made her way through the different rooms of the house, opening drawers and closets to find supplies they could make use of. There were many little things people often left behind when they were in a rush to escape, which usually left a bounty for her if a house hadn’t been picked over too badly already. Unfortunately, it seemed like this house had seen its fair share of scroungers. There was no food, of course—that was usually the first thing to go—but she did find a half-empty pack of AA batteries, a small sewing kit, a penlight, and best of all, a utility knife which was sure to come in handy.

While rifling through drawers in one of the bedrooms, she also found a family photo album, and couldn’t resist paging through it. It seemed that the people who’d lived here before had been a happy family, consisting of a mother, father, and their little boy. Sansa traced her fingers over their smiling faces and remembered when she’d dreamed of having something like that for herself. Though she’d realized long ago that a life like that would be impossible to have now, she still felt a stab of pain in her chest as she stared wistfully at their pictures.

Her eyes lingered on the husband, a handsome man, just the type she’d expected to marry. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a rasping voice, saying, “Is this what you’ve been wasting your time on? Come on, we need to go.” Sandor and his trademark scowl lingered in the room with her for only a second more, and she could swear she saw a softness in his eyes despite his facial expression. But then he turned away from her quickly and disappeared into the other room, and Sansa decided she must have imagined it.

With a sigh, she closed the album and put it back on the shelf, about to leave the room herself when a flicker of motion through the window caught her eye. The sight outside that greeted her was a horrifying one: the hoard, likely the one that she’d managed to attract, had apparently followed them out of town and managed to find the farmhouse. Sansa had expected they would scatter, but the noise of Sandor’s beat up, old pick-up truck must have been enough to set them off in this direction. It had only been a matter of time before they’d wind up here.

Though she felt fear fill her body from head to toe, she tried to be rational. It seemed they were just far enough away that if the group hurried, they could get to their cars and speed off, albeit in the wrong direction. As long as they made it away safe, that was all that mattered.

Sansa hurried down the stairs, and blessedly found almost everyone gathered in the living room, everything already packed in their vehicles. The only person missing was Arya. She could tell Sandor was about to make another snarky remark, but when he saw the look on her face he instantly switched moods, grabbing her by the shoulders and asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The hoard from town,” Sansa replied breathlessly, “It’s here, outside, close. We need to leave, now. Where’s Arya?”

“She said she saw some rabbits in the field and wanted to see if she could catch one for our dinner tonight,” Brienne said, her eyes frantic as she made for the back door. Pod and Sandor followed suit, their faces twisted with worry. If Arya had gone too far, they might not be able to get to her in time. They’d either have to sacrifice their main transportation and all their supplies, or sacrifice Arya, and the choice was obvious, should it come to that.

When they all got outside, they could make out her figure, hunkered down in the middle of the open field, the grass waving around her in the breeze. It was an idyllic image, almost peaceful but for the wave of living corpses threatening to devour them. Sansa opened her mouth to yell for Arya, but a hand clapped over it, silencing her. “Don’t. It will only make them come at us faster,” Sandor said tensely in her ear, his breath tickling her slightly. It was strangely intimate, and her stomach did an odd flip-flop.

Their faces were close when she turned to him, saying, “I was in track. I can get to her. Keep the cars running.” She expected resistance, but he only nodded, and then she was off, streaking like lightning through the field.

Arya must have heard her, because she rose up from the spot she was using to hide. At first she looked annoyed, but when her eyes strayed off she finally saw what she’d been too distracted to notice before. Then it was she who was running towards Sansa. The distance between them was closed quickly, their hands locking as they turned to run back to the others.

Even as fast as they moved, the zombies were far too close for comfort. They made it to the driveway where Sandor’s truck and Brienne’s car were parked side by side. She and Arya went between the two of them, trying to keep some space between themselves and the corpses. Brienne and Pod watched them nervously through the window as Arya threw open one of the back doors and slid in. Sansa moved to join her, only to find there were too many supplies for her to fit. Her sister began frantically shoving things on the floor, but it was too late.

Some of the corpses had gotten around the hood of Sandor’s truck and were reaching for her. Sansa watched in horror, having only the utility knife she’d found earlier to defend her. She pushed the car door shut, not wanting them to be able to get to Arya, and panicked, knowing her only option would be to run.

Suddenly, the passenger side door of Sandor’s truck shot open, putting a temporary barrier between her and the zombies. Much like yesterday, he yelled for her to get in, this time reaching out his hand to help her up. Sansa hesitated, not wanting to be separated from her sister again, only to feel Sandor’s hand clamp around her wrist and yank her up and inside. “But Arya—” Sansa began, tears pricking her eyes as he closed the door and Arya, Brienne, and Pod sped off.

“No buts! We don’t have time! Arya will be safe, and you won’t be separated for long, I promise,” Sandor told her, the first comforting thing he’d said to her in the entire time she’d know him. Putting the truck in gear, he plowed through the zombies that had started to accumulate around them, something her Civic hadn’t been able to do. At the thought of her car, she realized there was no way they could go back for it now, not with the hoard in their way. It was quite possible that she’d never see Lady again, especially since the keys were still sitting on the passenger seat, a clear invitation for anyone who wandered by to just take it.

Just like that, the last connection she had to her parents was gone. All she had now was Arya and Winterfell, if they even made it there.

Sansa tried to compose herself, knowing that if she started to cry, Sandor would likely become annoyed. At the moment, the last thing she wanted was to draw anymore of his ire, and so she tried to sit silently and concentrate on what she had to be grateful for instead of all that she’d lost.

However, she didn’t have long to do that, because after a few minutes of silence, Sandor set in on her, grinding through his teeth, “That back there was all you fucking fault, I hope you realize that. If you hadn’t been screwing around upstairs looking at some fucking pictures of people you didn’t even know and getting all sentimental or some bullshit, we’d have been long gone. Of course, if you hadn’t attracted that herd in the first place, then we wouldn’t have had to deal with them either, so that makes it doubly your fault. Of all the stupid fucking irresponsible—”

“Enough,” Sansa said sharply, unable to handle any more of his browbeating, “I get it. You don’t like me. But that doesn’t mean you get to talk to me any way you want. For all you know, that was a completely different set of zombies than the ones in town. And even if they are the ones that found me and tried to eat me, that doesn’t make it my fault they found us. _I’m_ not the one who drives a noisy old beater around that people can hear for a hundred miles. That’s you. So don’t even get me started on who’s to blame.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand, continuing on, “My mother taught me that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Let’s both follow her advice, shall we?”

Sansa expected some clever retort, but he fell silent, and she was grateful. Whatever kindness he’d paid her earlier obviously wasn’t genuine to who he really was. Apparently, the only goodness in him was reserved for Arya, and Sansa couldn’t wait for this car ride to be over so she could leave his toxic presence.

It occurred to her then, that she had no idea where they were going. Their main priority had been to get as far away from the zombies as possible, but now that they were putting enough distance between them, she realized they didn’t actually have a destination beyond Winterfell. Obviously, they couldn’t drive all that way in just a day, so Brienne, who they were following, must have had something in mind for a stopping point. Sansa wished she had a map, so she could figure out where they were and where they were going to end up.

She supposed Sandor would know, but she refused to ask him. At this point, she had nothing more to say to him, her musings from the night before be damned. There wasn’t anything more to him than the grumpy old dog he was outwardly, and she felt foolish for ever having thought otherwise. Instead of trying to get to know him better, she was determined to tolerate his presence as best she could, and then dump him as soon as they reached Winterfell. It was her ancestral home, after all. She could refuse entry to anyone she pleased.

Though she knew it was cruel, there was a small part of her that felt a bit of satisfaction as she pictured closing the gates in his face. Sansa tried to ignore the nagging sense of guilt she had at that, and focused on the rolling hills and rivers, waiting for this disastrous day to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor just can't help himself from being so antagonistic! A little kindness would go a long way, but it's hard for someone who's never been shown kindness to know that. Perhaps a certain little bird will be able to show him someday. :)
> 
> I feel so disconnected from this story lately because I've been so busy in my personal life! I've been moving, cleaning, painting, etc. etc. and it's been a lot so I haven't had time to write at all. I really need to get back to it!
> 
> All the love and gratefulness to those who've taken a chance on my story and have enjoyed it! I recently read that zombie AUs are the least popular type on AO3 (whoops lol) but as long as even one person gets something out of this fic, I'm happy.


	7. Chapter 7

The tension that was surrounding them in the cab of his truck was palpable, and Sandor couldn’t blame Sansa for her prickliness. After all, he’d been an absolute ass to her, blaming her for something that in all reality wasn’t actually her fault. Since they weren’t speaking, he had plenty of time to work through exactly why he’d felt the need to lash out at her so harshly.

Watching her run across that field and away from the safety of him—no, the safety of the group—had filled him with an unexpected sense of dread. The further she got from him, the more likely she was to get hurt or worse. His worry only grew as he sat in his truck, helplessly waiting for her and Arya to finally reach them. The closer the living dead got, the stupider he felt for letting either of them go off on their own. It was a mistake he would make sure not to repeat.

And then, when they finally did make it to the vehicles, Sansa had almost gotten herself killed, as the dead had started to make their way towards her. Sandor had seen the naked terror on her face, panicked like a cornered animal, totally frozen. If not for his quick thinking, she’d probably be one of them, dead-eyed and mindlessly chasing her next meal. It had been a terrifying moment, and after they’d made their escape he couldn’t help the anger he felt at her for scaring him that way.

Of course, Sandor couldn’t actually verbalize that, so instead he’d held her responsible for the situation and unleashed his frustration on her in an overwhelming wave of curse words and accusations. It wasn’t right, but he wouldn’t apologize. Vulnerability wasn’t his specialty, and he wasn’t interested in eating crow in front of her, no matter how in the wrong he was. No, he’d rather let her be angry at him. It was better that way. The more distance between them, the easier it would be for him to pretend he didn’t feel something for her.

Because, if he was being honest with himself, he was already developing some kind of attraction to her. At least, that’s what it seemed like. It had been so long since he’d had feelings for anyone that he wasn’t totally sure. But the signs seemed to be there. Like this morning, when he’d gone to wake her. Her face had been so peaceful and pretty that he’d stared at her for a good, long minute, before shaking himself out of his stupor and shaking her awake. Then when he’d caught her looking at that photo album, his heart had skipped a beat. The sunlight was finally streaming through the windows, lighting her copper hair with a halo, almost like an angel. Her deep blue eyes had looked soft, almost sad, and he found himself drawn to that sadness, a desire awakening within him to take her pain away. But then he reminded himself that she wasn’t right for him, and falling in love during times like these was a bad idea anyway, so he’d snapped at her to hurry up.

As long as he could always keep her at arm’s length, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about. This wayward infatuation—likely with her looks—would fade, and he’d be back to normal. For now, he would rely on his shitty personality and general crankiness to make sure she never got too close. And when he was finally over it, then he’d stop being a shithead.

They drove the rest of the way in relative silence, her head turned away from him for the duration, her eyes never leaving the landscape out of the window. His plan was already off to a great start. Still, he could tell Sansa was crying from the way she wouldn’t stop sniffling and rubbing her face every few minutes. Sandor gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could in an effort to stop himself from reaching out to her to give her some sort of comfort. Instead, he forced himself to focus on Brienne’s vehicle which wasn’t too far ahead of them as they backtracked for a while, finally finding an intersection to turn at so they could eventually wind their way back towards the North.

Eventually, they made a quick pit stop at a gas station, not something they could pass up. Fuel was a hot commodity, especially since his truck didn’t get many miles to the gallon. Luckily, not many people knew how to siphon gas, and they were able to get a few gallons into the vehicles and top up the gas cans Sandor kept in his truck bed. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough for now. While he’d been busy with that, he’d seen Sansa have a quiet conversation with Brienne and a tearful reunion with Arya. Without meaning to, he’d watched her a moment longer than necessary, then kicked himself. If he was trying to keep her out of his thoughts, staring at her wasn’t the way to do it.

After that he’d made a point to keep himself from looking at her at all. That is, until he got into his truck and had decided to allow himself a quick glance. It was only then that he noticed Pod, and not Sansa sat in the passenger seat.

“What are you doing here?” Sandor asked, unaccustomed to seeing the young man stray too far from the women.

“Sansa said she wanted to ride with Arya so she asked me to switch,” Pod said, clearly a bit dejected to be separated from his unofficial girlfriend.

“Fine by me,” Sandor said gruffly, hiding his disappointment much better than Pod had.

His new companion was just as chatty as his old one, and once again he sat in silence, although this time he paid much closer attention to Brienne’s car ahead of him. Every so often he’d see a flash of her hair as she’d turn around to talk to Arya about who knew what. It seemed being around her sister was enough to cheer her up considerably after his little tirade, as she was often smiling when he could see her face.

The day wore on, and soon the sun was beginning to set, signaling a need to find shelter or a place to camp. Brienne eventually led them to what looked like a small town, on the edge of which was a convenience store. It would have to do, so they parked and got ready to do their sweep. Sandor begrudgingly waited for Brienne to suit up in her ‘defensive gear’ and then they cautiously went inside.

Thankfully the store wasn’t very large, so they could do a quick visual sweep to see that there weren’t any of the living dead lurking about. That didn’t mean there weren’t any squatters, however, so the two of them still proceeded with caution, knives drawn in case they ran into trouble. As they peeked around near-empty shelves, they saw little evidence of any human presence, save for some garbage on the floor suggesting people had maybe stayed there a while ago. Aside from that, the main shop appeared to be empty, which left the bathroom, office, and storage room to be explored.

The first two were easy enough, both being small and requiring only one of them to quickly poke their head through the door. The storage room, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. When they approached, they could hear the tell-tale scraping and growling noises indicating the presence of either a feral animal or a zombie. Both were dangerous in their own ways, each possessing enough problems to be lethal if handled incorrectly. They took the time to listen closely, and it seemed as though there was only one creature on the other side of the door. To determine what it was, Sandor rapped sharply on the wood three times. If it was an animal, it would likely retreat to whatever hiding spot it had in the room. If it was a zombie, it would head for straight for the door.

Immediately after he’d knocked, the zombie began to moan, scratching and banging on the door in an effort to get to the other side. Brienne beckoned him closer, and he could tell the wheels in her head were turning, formulating a plan. “We should try to lure it out into the open,” she whispered, her face serious, “I’ll open the door and you wait on the opposite side of the door frame to strike. Should be an easy take down.”

It wasn’t a bad plan, certainly better than running in there blindly. They weren’t smart creatures, and it would likely come tumbling out onto the floor as soon as she removed the barrier in front of it. Sandor nodded and moved into position, waiting for her signal. Brienne locked eyes with him, and held up her fingers, counting down from three. When she put down the final finger, she pulled the door open quickly, and sure enough, the corpse stumbled forward through the opening, completely oblivious to Sandor who moved behind it and plunged his knife into the base of its skull, effectively killing it.

Brienne clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well done, Clegane.”

Sandor was about to reply sarcastically when some movement out of the corner of his eye distracted him. The arm Brienne had extended to give him her patronizing pat was now being assaulted by another zombie which they hadn’t expected. Its rotted teeth clamped down on the pads she wore to protect herself—actually doing their job for once, he noted—and she lost her balance at the unexpected assault, falling to the floor. The corpse tumbled down with her and seemed to realize that it wasn’t chewing on the flesh it so desired. It released her arm and started to try to make a meal of her face instead, with Brienne putting her arms underneath it to shove it off.

Based on the lack of decomposition, Sandor surmised it hadn’t been undead for long, and thus it was stronger than the corpses they usually dealt with, its hands clinging to her shoulder pads as she wrestled with it. He moved quickly, grabbing it by the hair to pull it away from Brienne and help her throw it onto the ground. His knife was still embedded in the other zombie’s skull, and he wouldn’t use his gun in what was supposed to be their safe house for the night, so he’d need to use brute force to smash the thing’s skull in.

As soon as it landed on the ground he lifted his foot high and brought it down hard on the corpse’s face, crushing it beneath his heel with a satisfying crack. It wasn’t the most elegant method of killing, but it was effective, as all of its movements ceased, signifying that it had reached its end.

Sandor turned and offered his hand to help Brienne up, asking, “Are you okay? Did it bite you?”

“Only on the pads,” Brienne huffed, still out of breath as she stood, her eyes wide from the shock, “Thank you for saving me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Sandor replied gruffly, retrieving his knife and wiping off the gore on the zombie’s clothes before sheathing it, “Would’ve done it for anyone, especially someone with fighting skills.”

She only raised a brow and he could tell she didn’t quite believe that he’d only helped her for pragmatic reasons, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, “Let’s check out the rest of the storeroom and then clean up these bodies.”

Sandor nodded, and the two of them examined the now empty room, finding some dirty, blood-covered blankets and a couple of backpacks. His best guess is that one of them was bitten, and when they turned the other couldn’t handle it and got themselves bitten as well, then died and turned, too, leaving a mess behind. The shelves within looked pretty picked over, which was a shame, but expected. Their packs were a different story, filled with trail mix and jerky as well as a couple of water bottles. There was also a flashlight, a compass, and a survival book. Sandor thought that it was the least they could do to leave these supplies behind after almost killing Brienne.

She left him to take care of the bodies while going to check on the others and tell them it was safe to come inside. Sandor knew the simplest solution would be to dump them out back, and when he looked outside, he found a dumpster, which would be the perfect resting place. In no time at all, he had them out of the store and into their makeshift coffin. He knew it would look suspicious to Brienne if he came back inside so quickly, so he lingered outside for enough time that it would seem like he’d disposed of their remains respectfully like she’d want.

Eventually he rejoined the others inside and found them setting up camp. They were arranging their sleeping bags in between the shelves for some semblance of privacy. Sandor decided the best place for him was to roll out his own behind the counter where the cash register sat. As he was laying it down, he happened to glance over at the shelf underneath and saw a bottle of whiskey sitting there. Apparently whoever had owned the shop before liked to enjoy some spirits while on the job.

As he stared at the bottle, Sandor knew without a doubt that he should just dump it out and throw it away. He could already feel his mouth watering just imagining the way it would taste.

Instead, he did his best to forget it. After all, it had been quite a while since he’d had a drink, ever since Arya’s ultimatum. It was very likely that his little problem no longer existed. Sandor was a stronger man than he had been in King’s Landing. He could resist the amber liquid that was currently calling his name. The first step was to join the others and put the bottle in the back of his mind.

Pod started to cook dinner for them, and they sat in a circle around the camp stove. There was only room enough to sit next to Sansa, and he tried his best to keep his body as far from her as possible. Still, he could feel the warmth emanating from her, and she smiled prettily at him when he sat down, likely to be courteous.

Brienne was contemplating the road atlas she had, her fingers tracing over the roads for a few moments before she looked up at them and said with a sigh, “Well, because of our little detour, we’re a bit further off course than I wanted to be. Still, I think I have a route planned that will get us back on track. We should reach the Crossing in a few days’ time.”

Sandor balked at her words, “The Crossing? Are you serious? That’s way too dangerous. You’ll get us all fucking killed.”

“It’s the fastest way to the North,” Brienne began, apparently already prepared for him to be arguing with her.

“Those bridges are also a mile long, a major roadway, and haven’t been maintained since all this shit started. There will be cars to move, which will take time, and we’ll be leaving ourselves vulnerable to all sorts of threats. What if a hoard comes by? We’ll be trapped with nowhere to go. And that’s if they’re even still standing at all,” Sandor explained, becoming more agitated the more he spoke.

“The Crossing was built to last. If anything will stand the test of time, it’s those bridges. And what are the odds that a herd of the dead would happen upon us at the same time we’re there? It’s more likely that we’ll be just fine,” Brienne said, not seeming to take his concerns seriously, “I grant you, moving the vehicles to clear a path will take time, but it’ll be much less than if we tried to find another way.”

“This is a bad idea. Probably the worst you’ve ever come up with. If you think we’re going to do this, you’re fucking crazy,” Sandor said, crossing his arms and glaring at her across the circle.

“Let’s put it to a vote, shall we? Everyone who wants to take a chance on the Crossing, raise your hand,” Brienne said, staring around smugly as Arya, Pod, and Sansa all raised their hands uncomfortably, “Looks like you’re outnumbered, Clegane.”

Sandor gritted his teeth and said, “You guys need to think this through. Are you really agreeing because you think this is the best idea, or because you don’t know any better?”

Sansa piped up beside him, slightly indignant, as she said, “Don’t insult us by assuming we’re only following along with Brienne like children. If there was a better way, you would have suggested it, but there isn’t and I think you know that. Stop being so stubborn and accept that this is the plan.”

He scowled at down her, replying “Excuse me for not going with the first idea someone offers without trying to think of the risks first. I just like being alive, but I guess that makes me stubborn.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Sansa retorted, a perfectly arched brow raised in his direction. Her eyes distracted him, as she continued to stare up at him, waiting for his response. There was a fire inside them, her entire posture suggesting she was ready for his challenge, should he come up with one. Sandor’s mouth parted slightly, but no words would come out, his tongue feeling suddenly heavy. When he didn’t say anything, she smirked at him and said, “See? If you don’t have a suggestion, then we’re going to go with Brienne’s plan.”

“Whatever,” Sandor bit out, shaking his head. It wasn’t like him to get distracted by pretty women, especially when the stakes were so high. It irked him so much that she’d left him tongue-tied that he didn’t speak for the rest of the night, only ate what Pod handed him and then headed to his sleeping bag so he could get some rest before he had to take watch. If they wanted to get themselves killed, then fine. He’d be there just to say ‘I told you so’ before they met their untimely end.

Eventually he drifted off and slept fitfully, having dreams of long bridges crawling with corpses and crumbling beneath his feet. When Brienne woke him, he was still tired and extremely irritable, her ugly face being the last thing he wanted to see. Especially when he could still see a hint of satisfaction on her face at another battle between them going in her favor.

Sandor was tense, and as he stared out into the moonlit landscape, he felt a great need for something, anything to take the edge off. The half-empty bottle of whiskey on the shelf sprang to his mind immediately, but he rejected it at once. He couldn’t break his unspoken promise to the little wolf-bitch. She’d probably flay him alive if he did.

Instead, he tried to take out some of his frustration by exercising, doing a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, and some air boxing to help. However, the workout only made him sweaty and uncomfortable, the whiskey bottle still calling to him from behind the counter.

Sandor hesitated for several moments before giving in and heading back to where the bottle whispering to him awaited. The only way to get it out of his mind would be to just take one drink. Then he’d be satisfied and he’d be able to put it behind him. Arya would never need to know, especially since one drink wouldn’t get him drunk.

As soon as he felt the burn down his throat, he knew he couldn’t stop, and proceeded to down at least a quarter of the bottle. The buzz was immediate and pleasant, probably the best he’d felt since he’d given it up for Arya, and Sandor wanted to chase that feeling. So, he took another drink, and then another after that until the bottle was almost gone.

He didn’t realize just how drunk he was, until a mysterious hand grabbed his shoulder in the darkness, causing his heart to leap into his throat. Expecting an intruder, he whirled around, only stumbling a little as he drew his knife and hissed, “Don’t move or I’ll cut your fucking throat.” Sandor’s other hand shot out, closing hard around the skinny arm belonging to whoever had been foolish enough to break into their temporary home.

“Stop, please, it’s only me,” a soft, feminine voice whispered back out of the darkness. He took a step back, pulling her with him, and saw Sansa’s face illuminated by the moonlight.

“Oh,” he replied, dropping her arm immediately, pulling his hand back quickly as though he’d been burned, “What are you doing? Don’t you know better than to sneak up on people?” Shit. If she figured out he was drunk, she’d probably tell Arya, and then he’d be in real trouble.

“I couldn’t sleep and thought that perhaps I could take watch and you could get some more rest,” Sansa replied, then added snarkily, “Also, if you’re supposed to be keeping watch, then I shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on you.”

“Not my fault. You’re like a cat with the way you walk around all sneaky-like,” Sandor said, doing his best to keep the slurring to a minimum, “Just go back to bed. I’m fine.”

“I told you, I can’t sleep. I’ve tried. At least let me keep you company. Four eyes are better than two, right?” She was practically begging him to let her spend time with him, something he wasn’t quite sure what to make of.

As he tried to work out the math, she took his silence as an agreement, and settled in beside him, staring out into the nothingness as he had been before. So much for keeping her at arm’s length, he thought, doing his best not to lean into her.

This was going to be a long night. If he could manage to keep his mouth shut, things would turn out fine. Probably. Hopefully. He just needed to focus on being silent.


	8. Chapter 8

“This is fucking boring,” Sandor said from beside her, startling her slightly. Sansa had expected him to remain taciturn for the rest of the night, not uttering so much as a peep. Yet it had only been a few minutes since she’d joined him and he’d started up a conversation. At least, that’s what it seemed like, as he continued, “I’m going to sit down. Let’s sit down.”

She watched him, puzzled, as he moved clumsily through the darkness and plopped down on the ground, resting his back against the counter. He was certainly acting strange, much different than the person she knew during the day.

He’d completely changed from the man who’d berated her in the car earlier. Sansa had told Arya about his harsh words, and she’d come to his defense once more, saying that he was probably just scared and lashing out. ‘Dogs do that, you know,’ she’d said, nodding sagely. ‘But he’s not a dog, Arya. He’s a man. And he should really start acting like it,’ Sansa had said back, not understanding why her sister was so desperate to defend him. They said little more on the matter, and she had decided to be the bigger person and forgive him. After all, there was already enough friction between him and Brienne. Sansa didn’t want to add that tension.

When she didn’t move, he waved her over, saying, “Come on, girl. I don’t bite.”

Hesitantly, she went to him and sat cross-legged on the floor adjacent to him. “Shouldn’t we be keeping watch by, you know, actually watching out for danger?” He’d been the one that afternoon who’d gone on about the risks about going to the Crossing, and now here he was shirking his duties as though their safety didn’t really matter.

Sandor waved his hand again, this time dismissively, as he said, “Relax. Nothing’s gonna happen. Nothing ever does.”

“Then why bother with it at all?” Sansa asked, raising an eyebrow at him, although she suspected he couldn’t see her face. Only half of his was illuminated by the moon outside, so she could no longer see the ghastly scars that took over the other side. In this light, he was almost handsome, and she felt a small pang of regret for whatever had happened that had given him those scars.

He shrugged and replied, “Something to do. It’s a way to feel useful and in control. Like anything I or anyone else does actually matters anymore.” Sandor snorted at his own statement and shook his head, turning it to stare through the door, losing himself in thought.

“I think it matters now more than ever,” Sansa said, frowning at him, “What we do when things are at their worst reveals our character. It shows us who we really are.”

“Then I guess I’m really a killer,” Sandor shot back, his eyes boring holes into hers, “Since that’s what I’ve done since all this shit started.”

Sansa weighed her words carefully before she responded, finally saying, “I don’t think so. You’re killing to survive. To keep others safe. Not because you like it.”

Sandor grinned at her almost wickedly as he said, “That’s the thing. I do like it. Everyone does. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

Sansa didn’t like where this conversation was going. She wasn’t the type to believe the worst in people, and she couldn’t bring herself to take what he said at face value. Rather than accept the idea that he liked killing, she tried to think of another reason why he would say that. Perhaps he was just trying to scare her. He seemed to enjoy being intimidating and Arya _had_ said his bark was worse than his bite.

She refused to give him the satisfaction and tried to prove him wrong by saying, “Well, I don’t like killing.”

“Because you’re weak,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the counter, regarding her with half-lidded eyes.

Was he baiting her, or did he really think that? “It doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human.”

Sandor snorted once more and presumably rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say. How many times have I had to rescue your ass now?”

“Twice. But to be fair those situations were out of my hands. And both times, you didn’t kill anyone to save me,” she replied deftly. Check and mate.

“Maybe not then. But eventually I’ll have to, because you won’t be able to. And that blood will be just as much on your hands as it will be on mine,” he said cryptically. He twiddled his thumbs in front of himself, his head bobbing back and forth, his face suddenly serious.

While she didn’t agree, Sansa felt as though things had become too serious for the moment, and she no longer wanted to continue this conversation. He also didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the subject, so they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. She didn’t like the quiet and wanted to steer them in a different direction, but had no idea what he’d even want to talk about.

He was certainly an enigma. She was reminded vaguely of that picture of the iceberg which had the tip out of the water and the rest of it below the surface, implying there was more to most people than met the eye. That certainly seemed to be the case with him, especially when she considered his interaction with Arya and the fact that he had actually saved her own life in spite of the fact that he seemed to value it very little.

Eventually she was shaken from her thoughts when he turned his head to look back out the door of the convenience store, exposing his scars to her once more. They didn’t look as bad in the dimness of the room, the lack of light making them look smoother and less red. Sansa was thankful he couldn’t see her so she could look her fill without feeling awkward.

She couldn’t help but wonder where he’d got them, and without thinking blurted out, “What happened to your face?” Her cheeks flushed crimson and she couldn’t believe her rudeness. The way she’d just flat out asked him was unforgivable, and totally out of character for what she’d been taught as a girl. Clearly, she’d been away from people for far too long.

Before she could apologize, however, Sandor barked out a quick laugh and turned back to her, “You want to know about my face? Curious how an old dog became so ugly, eh?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I—” Sansa sputtered out, doing her best to backpedal and make up for the way she’d spoken to him.

Sandor only laughed more and interrupted her, “It’s too late now, girl. You’ve asked the question. Can’t take it back, no matter how much your precious courtesies might make you wish you could.”

Sansa’s entire body prickled with the heat of embarrassment as she desperately wished she could turn back time and stop herself from opening a door that wasn’t hers to open. “Please, you really don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“S’fine. Not like it matters now. Everyone who was involved is dead or worse probably and that’s still a better fate than most of them deserved,” Sandor said, a bitter undercurrent in his voice making it harsher than usual.

She didn’t know how to respond and was starting to get the feeling that this story was going to be one she wouldn’t want to hear. Even after all the atrocities she’d witnessed in the months since the dead started rising, Sansa was still a sensitive, empathetic person. Whatever he had to say would be difficult to digest, and now more than ever she wished she hadn’t asked. Silence would be preferable to listening to another tragedy.

Another beat, and then Sandor started talking, this time his voice softer, “I was just a kid. Ten or twelve, I don’t really remember. At the time, I idolized my big brother probably more than anyone. Gregor, star of the football team, big man of Lannisport High School. I wanted to be just like him, and everyone said I would be. He was huge, and I was getting just as big, on track to join the football team, too. Everything seemed great at the time.”

He paused then, and she could see the tension enveloping his shoulders as his eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists in his lap. The next part would be painful for Sandor, and she almost told him not to say anymore, but now her curiosity was piqued.

He continued, “What I didn’t know about was how violent he’d gotten. Apparently he’d started taking steroids, lashing out at people, going into rages, that kind of thing. And all over the stupidest shit. Anything could set him off. Our dad had kept me sheltered from most of it, but he couldn’t save me from everything.

“One day, I’d gone into his room and started playing catch with his lucky football, the one he’d thrown around during the game where he got his big scholarship to go to Casterly Rock University. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have done it. Should’ve known better. He barely even touched it himself, only when he rubbed it before a big game for luck.

“So when he caught me, I knew I was in deep shit. At first he seemed calm, left the room and didn’t say a word. But then he came back and he flew off the handle, screaming and cussing at me, the whole shebang. Dragged me outside and threw me into the fire pit where he’d just lit a fire. Gregor held me down for what felt like hours, even when I screamed and begged him for mercy. My dad couldn’t even pull him off me. Just had to wait until he was satisfied and let me go.

“After that, I realized people didn’t love my brother. They feared him. They did what he wanted because they were scared not because they cared about him. It opened my eyes to the way the world really was. Especially when nobody did anything about it. Dad just lied, said my mattress had caught fire, and Gregor went on to become the big man on campus at CRU. What a fucking joke.”

Sansa thought the worst of it was over, and was about to offer a sympathetic remark when he kept going. Somehow, there was more.

His face contorted with grief as he continued, his voice dropping to a hoarse near-whisper, “It was just after our mother died that he came back home for the funeral. She’d died giving birth to our little sister. I was still recovering from the burns, so I barely remember most of it. It took me months, and almost all of that time I was heavily sedated.

“I could hear her crying, almost like a dream, but I couldn’t get up to make her stop. Father was in no shape to take care of her, so that left Gregor. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I could hear him screaming at her, ‘Stop crying! Stop crying!’ over and over again. Eventually she did. I wanted to believe it was a nightmare, that I’d only imagined it, but then father was planning another funeral and…and…”

She could only stare at Sandor in horror as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Though the sounds were muffled, she could tell that he was crying as he relived what had to be some of the worst memories of his life. Sansa felt tears in her own eyes as she realized just how traumatic his childhood had been. She regretted asking him now more than ever about his scars, and felt an intense desire to show him how sorry she was for making him talk about it.

Awkwardly, she scooted across the floor and reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder softly and whispering, “Oh, Sandor…”

Everything after that happened so quickly that Sansa wasn’t quite sure of the sequence of events. As soon as she touched his shoulder, he reacted violently, and she found herself thrown back onto the floor, Sandor on top of her, his knife pressed to her throat.

Her heart was pounding as he leaned in close, the tears on his face dripping down onto her own, the smell of liquor on his breath finally washing over her, as he said menacingly, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.” Sandor’s eyes glinted, his face looking even more alarming close-up, but even with that and the knife pressed against her throat, Sansa found she wasn’t afraid.

And then he was gone, stumbling drunkenly back into the darkness and disappearing behind the counter while she continued to lay on the floor and tried to figure out what had just happened. It was obvious now why he’d opened up to her: he’d been intoxicated. She wondered if he’d even remember divulging some of his darkest secrets to her when he woke up tomorrow. Part of her hoped that he wouldn’t so it would spare him the embarrassment of telling her something he probably hadn’t meant to tell anyone. Judging by his reaction, those memories were ones he’d intended to keep locked up forever, constantly eating away at him.

At the thought of what he’d told her, tears formed at the corners of her eyes once more. Sansa realized just how blessed she’d been to have the childhood she’d had. Loving parents, a safe home, and siblings who wouldn’t ever raise a hand to each other, much less kill one another. Her life was idyllic in comparison to his, and she was finally starting to get a sense of why he was the way he was. To have your innocence stolen so soon in life by someone who you looked up to would have been traumatic on its own. But then to lose someone you loved to that same person was just cruel. If it had been her, she likely wouldn’t have been able to survive it.

Sansa took a few moments to work through her emotions, and then sat up, deciding to take watch for Sandor. She could hear him snoring softly from where he’d passed out, and it was unlikely he’d be getting up again before dawn, so she would keep them safe while he slept off whatever drink he’d managed to find. She stared out the window of the convenience store, the thoughts of Sandor’s life hardly straying from her mind. Thankfully, nothing happened, just as he’d predicted, and eventually the first rays of sunlight started peeking up over the horizon.

Sansa could hear people stirring as they woke, but she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone just yet, and chose to keep watching the world outside instead.

Eventually she heard a voice behind her, “Sansa? What are you doing? Where’s Sandor?”

She turned to see Brienne, the other woman’s face a mask of confusion. Apparently they had a routine down and didn’t deviate it from it. “I couldn’t sleep. I told Sandor he could get some rest and I would take over for the night.”

Sansa could tell the gears were turning in Brienne’s mind, and realized then that her lie was fairly transparent. After all, Sandor rarely did anything anyone told him to, and it was totally unlike him to let go of control to someone else. Especially someone who he viewed as weak, such as herself. He’d made it evident to the rest of the group that he didn’t respect her or think very highly of her, so Brienne would probably figure out right away that something else had happened.

However, after a beat, she simply said, “Well, wake him up. We need to get ready to leave.” If she didn’t believe Sansa, she wasn’t going to say anything.

Rather than following orders, she went and fetched Pod to rouse him instead, thinking that hers would be the last face Sandor wanted to see. She found him and Arya whispering to one another, their sleeping bags close together, and had she been in a better mood, she probably would have teased her sister. As it was, she just wanted to leave.

“Are you all right?” Arya asked quietly as soon as Pod left them.

“I’m fine. Just tired. I couldn’t sleep,” Sansa said by way of explanation.

“Maybe you can get some rest in the car. Come on and help me so we can get moving,” Arya said, grabbing her arm and dragging her over to where their supplies were.

While they got everything packed up, Sansa snuck glances at Sandor who looked even more the worse for wear than she expected. His face was pale, his expression drawn as he rubbed his eyes blearily. If anyone spoke to him, he only grunted and scowled in return. He was every bit the picture of an awful hangover as he threw his hair into a messy bun and shoved his things into his bag. She couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered anything from the previous evening, but if he did, his face never showed it. In fact, he never even so much as looked in her direction.

Even though it was a little petulant, she couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed, thinking that perhaps something would have changed between them. However, it seemed that if anything, last night had only driven a wedge further between them. Not that it mattered, of course. After all, she only needed him to help her and Arya get to Winterfell. Once they were home, she didn’t care what happened to him. So, whether or not he liked her meant very little to her.

Once they’d finished packing, Sansa made for Brienne’s car, only to find that Pod and Arya had resumed their original seating arrangement. That left her to ride with Sandor in his truck. Much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t think of a good reason to ask Pod to switch with her two days in a row. While Brienne had been nice enough about it, she’d mentioned that Pod was usually her navigator and hinted strongly that she’d prefer he ride with her.

So, with few other options, Sansa begrudgingly buckled herself into his passenger seat. Sandor didn’t look in her direction, only started up the truck and began to follow Brienne.

Neither of them said a word and she didn’t get the sense that that was going to change any time soon. Perhaps she should try to clear the air? But maybe it was better if they never talked about it. Sansa would spend the majority of the morning debating her options, finally reaching her conclusion by the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to everyone for the later update! I meant to post earlier today, but was out of town for work and wound up traveling back home sooner than expected so I didn't have access to Wifi! But better late than never, right?
> 
> Sansa is finally getting a glimpse of the man underneath the scars and seeing that there's more to him than what she's been shown. Perhaps now there will be room for something more than animosity to grow between them. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Sandor’s head was pounding as a soft voice above him continued to say, ‘Wake up. Sandor, you need to wake up.’ He could see his mother’s face floating just above him, her smile warm as she murmured that it was time to go. Ah, of course. It must be time for school. She always had to make sure he woke on time. He could practically smell the bacon and eggs she’d made for breakfast, the scent wafting in from downstairs. But why did his head hurt so much? The pain was almost blinding, and he couldn’t figure out what he’d done to cause it. And why wasn’t she calling him ‘Sandy?’ She always called him that when she came to get him up in the morning.

As he began to question reality, her voice changed, and suddenly it sounded deep, not like her at all. A hand much larger than hers grabbed his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly, and when Sandor finally opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered. Not his mother, but Pod hovered over him, his expression concerned.

“Sandor, are you feeling all right?” Pod asked him, reaching out to touch his forehead.

Sandor’s hand shot out and wrapped around Pod’s wrist, as he gave the young man a glare and gritted out, “I’m fine. Just fuck off, would you?”

Pod snatched his hand away and backed off, saying, “Okay, okay. Just checking. You just look…not great.”

“How is that different from any other time?” Sandor asked crossly, sitting up and putting his head in his hands.

“I just meant…Never mind. Brienne wants to leave within the hour,” Pod said, turning to start helping the others pack up.

Now that Sandor was alone, he could focus on why exactly he felt so shitty. He wracked his brain trying to conjure memories from the previous evening. It all started with the whiskey he’d found on the shelf adjacent to him. He’d only had a few drinks, right? Looking around, he eventually spotted the bottle and found to his surprise that he’d actually consumed it all. What had happened after that? He’d been staring out the window and then someone had gotten up and scared him. Who was it that had made him nearly shit his pants?

Ah, yes. It was Sansa. He remembered the feeling of her arm in his hand, small, almost bird-like. He could have crushed it if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t want to hurt her. Instead they’d sat down together and talked for a while. But what about? If he remembered correctly, he’d been the one doing the talking, and a lot of it at that.

Finally, some of the words that had left him started to come back, and to his horror, he realized he’d told her how he’d gotten his scars. Without thinking, he reached up and touched them as all the things he’d said started to pour back into his brain like the whiskey he’d poured down his throat last night. Sandor had gone on for ages about Gregor and his rages and he’d even told Sansa about how the bastard had killed their little sister.

And then he’d started crying like a little bitch. Gods be damned he’d sobbed into his hands like a child for who knew how long, utterly shaming himself in front of her. That is, until she’d tried to comfort him and then he’d thrown her to the ground like an animal and threatened her life. Her face had stared up at him, wide-eyed and shocked as he’d held a knife to her throat and told her he’d kill her if she ever said anything. The image of her, likely terrified underneath him was haunting and try as he might, he couldn’t shake it from his mind.

With a sigh, he threw his hair into a bun and started packing up his belongings, wondering what he was going to do now. It wasn’t like he could avoid her. Their group was small and they often stayed together in tight quarters. Of course, she probably didn’t want anything to do with him now that he’d thrown her around and threatened her life. Maybe she would make it easy and pretend like he didn’t exist, just like he wanted to do with her.

Gods, but what if she wanted to talk about it? He sincerely hoped she didn’t, but Sansa was definitely a chatty one. She’d hardly stopped chirping since she’d joined them. In fact, he was surprised he didn’t hear her right now, yammering away about whatever nonsense she’d thought up. He snuck a glance at her, and saw that her expression was serious and contemplative. There were dark circles under her eyes, and he realized that she’d probably stayed up for the rest of the night keeping watch after he’d passed out. That was just another thing to add to his already mounting guilt.

Honestly, he owed Sansa an apology, but the more he thought about it, the harder it felt to just say sorry. Sandor didn’t even know where he would start, and decided it would just be easier to avoid her and everything altogether. After all, she’d started riding with Brienne, so the only time he’d have to pretend like she wasn’t there would be at night when they were all huddled around the camp stove. He never talked anyway, so it wouldn’t be hard to just eat his food and then retreat to whatever little corner he’d staked out for himself.

Sandor was shaken from his thoughts by Brienne, who’d cleared her throat behind him before saying, “I need to talk to you about last night.”

Shit. Had she heard what he said? “What about last night?”

“Look, I don’t know what happened, but you’d better not shrug your duties off onto Sansa anymore, got it? I woke up this morning to find her keeping watch for you, and I can only imagine why,” Brienne said, her brow arched disapprovingly, “She’s not a fighter, Clegane. If anything had happened, we’d probably all be dead. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Fuck off,” Sandor started, wincing at the volume of his own voice rattling around in his head, “It’s not that hard to keep watch. You’re overreacting.”

“You have one job in this group, and that’s to keep us safe during the night. Just do it and don’t argue with me,” Brienne sneered, walking away from him with a shake of her head.

Sandor muttered some obscenities under his breath, but continued on with his morning until it was time to go. As he walked to his truck, he expected to see Pod sitting in the passenger seat. However, instead, copper hair and long eyelashes greeted him as she looked his way for the first time that day. It was only for a second, and then she turned away again, and he felt his heart start to pound and his palms get sweaty. He hadn’t planned on being trapped in an enclosed space with her, and now they’d be riding together all day.

With nothing but the highway in front of them and the landscape around them, the only thing they’d have to do is talk to each other. And if she’d chosen to ride with him instead of Arya and Brienne that probably meant that she wanted to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he’d already told her the worst of his life. Nothing more he could say would change that. And honestly, that almost made him feel more comfortable with talking to her. She already knew him better than anyone alive, so why shouldn’t he be able to have a conversation with her?

Yet, when they started driving, she remained silent, much to his surprise. It seemed the little bird had retreated to her cage, her face turned away from him as she focused on the world outside the window instead. Sandor was almost hurt, but then decided it was for the best. After all, whatever was happening here, it likely wasn’t good. If he went around getting attached to someone—especially someone as frail as Sansa—he’d only get hurt in the end. She wasn’t destined to survive this world for a long time.

A small voice in the back of his mind chimed up at that, saying, ‘She could be. If you protected her. You could keep her safe.’

Sandor’s breath caught in his throat, but he pushed the thoughts away. Sansa was already proving to be a handful. He’d probably die trying to protect her, and he valued his own life far too much to keep risking it for her.

But as he chanced a sidelong glance at her, he found himself thinking about all the ways in which he’d do anything to stop her from seeing any harm and finally realized he was in deeper than he’d thought.

Sansa was silent for the entire morning, and he expected her not to say a word to him for the rest of the day. However, after they’d chanced a quick pit stop at another gas station, she surprised him once more by speaking once they were on the road again.

“My childhood was peaceful. My parents were sweet, attentive, hardly ever raised their voices to us. And I got along with all my siblings, even Arya. We might have had our differences, but we loved each other, and our arguments never lasted for long,” Sansa said, staring at her hands which were folded in her lap.

Sandor wondered what exactly her point was. Was she just showing off? Rubbing it in that she had it easier than him?

“I think the worst thing that ever happened to me was when the boy I wanted to go to prom with asked another girl instead of me. I remember crying while my mother stroked my hair, thinking that I would never be so unhappy ever again. That is, until the dead started coming back to life.” Her voice became strained, and when he glanced over at her, there were tears in her eyes. “I was in King’s Landing with my father. Arya was in the city, too, but we didn’t know where she was and were trying to find her so we could all escape together. There were corpses everywhere, devouring people, ripping their insides out and chewing on them. The smell of blood and gore was so strong that I threw up until there wasn’t anything left and even then I still dry-heaved.

“We were getting closer to the city center where we thought she might be when we got cornered by a pack of them. They were closing in on us, and I couldn’t stop screaming which was only attracting more of them. My father was begging me to stop as he tried to fight them off. Eventually he must have realized it would be impossible to kill them all.

“He grabbed my face, kissed me on the forehead, and told me he loved me. Then, he threw himself into their arms while they ripped and tore at his flesh. I watched my father get eaten alive so that he could save my life. It was horrific. I still can’t get the image of his head being ripped from his body out of my mind. It was the last thing I remember before passing out.”

Sandor digested her words, still not quite sure what she was getting at. He had fled King’s Landing himself before the entire world had devolved into chaos, so he hadn’t had nearly as traumatic an experience as she had. But what did that have to do with anything?

“I know it might seem strange for me to be telling you this, but I just wanted you to know that while I don’t completely understand what you went through as a boy, I do know what it’s like to lose a loved one in a traumatic, unexpected way. It’s not the same, I know, but I just…I just wanted you to know that I understand a little. If that makes sense,” she said, her voice getting progressively smaller as she started to lose steam. She added quickly, “You don’t have to talk about it anymore, of course. But I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed or anything for having told me. So I thought if I told you about something that happened to me, we’d be even.”

That made a bit more sense, although he thought the logic there was a little flawed. Still, he was touched that she was trying to make him feel better in her own clumsy way. He was so moved, in fact, that he couldn’t formulate a proper response. People rarely, if ever, opened up to him, and now that she was, he had no idea what to say to her. ‘Sorry’ seemed too simple, but there were few other words that one could use to comfort another. Even though he knew it was probably a mistake, he chose to remain silent while he processed his feelings.

Sansa didn’t say anything else, and he felt a little guilty. She probably expected some kind of response, but he just couldn’t bring himself to speak. Once again, she’d rendered him speechless, something that was becoming more common than he’d like to admit. With every kindness she paid him, it seemed she took the biting acidic comments he had right out of his mouth. And if he wasn’t saying something cruel, that left him with little else to say instead. It was strange, and it made him uncomfortable how easily she could disarm him.

Still, he felt like he had to offer her some kind of thanks to show he was grateful for her attempt to ease his pain with her own.

Eventually they stopped for the night, finding a small rambler out in the countryside that would do as a makeshift shelter. As soon as he put his truck in park, she left the vehicle, probably hurt that he didn’t even so much as offer his condolences for her father. In fact, she didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. Once he and Brienne swept the place and dispatched the few zombies that were within, Sansa and Arya claimed the master bedroom as their own and stayed in there until it was time for dinner.

After they ate, Sansa disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes they’d borrowed from whoever lived there previously. Though there was no water to clean them with, she still seemed intent to wash them somehow, and he watched her standing over the sink, rubbing the remains of their meal off with a dishtowel. It was so strangely domestic that he found himself transfixed, and for a moment he was transported to a different life wherein he and Sansa were a couple and she was doing the dishes after a family meal. The image of a towheaded, copper-haired little boy with grey eyes appeared unbidden to his mind, running up and tugging on his mother’s shirt.

Sandor shook his head, clearing the ridiculous thoughts from his mind, and moved into the room. She didn’t notice him at first, so he cleared his throat, causing her to jump. When she turned and saw it was him, she frowned and said, “You startled me.” Where normally she would have smiled politely, she only continued to stare at him disapprovingly, her lips pinched into a tight line. It was obvious she was still displeased with him.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Sandor said awkwardly as she looked away from him.

“Did you need something?” Sansa asked the dish in her hand, refusing to make eye-contact again.

This was much harder than he expected. His throat felt tight as he took a deep breath and said, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about your dad and about what happened to him. Telling me about it was probably hard for you, and I appreciate what you were trying to do by saying all that.” Never in his adult life had he said a string of words in that context, and it felt uncomfortable, like wearing clothes that didn’t fit right. Sandor was hot all over, and suddenly very much wanted to leave the room.

Without anything else to say, he reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze, but before he could remove his hand, she put hers over his. When he looked into her eyes, he could see them shining with an emotion he couldn’t name, as she said softly, “Thank you.” Though the words were simple, he felt like there was a weight behind them, and all at once it was like something had shifted between the two of them.

Sandor’s heart skipped a beat as he continued to look into her eyes which darkened as she stared back up at him. Her lips parted and her gaze darted down to his mouth, and he realized that she was thinking about kissing him. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like, as she started to move her face closer to his.

“Sansa, did you need any help cleaning up?” Brienne asked, suddenly striding in the room, startling them and causing the two to spring apart. Sandor watched her to see if she noticed, and by the way she looked back and forth between them and narrowed her eyes, he guessed she had. “Oh, I see you already have help. My mistake.”

“I’m fine, thanks, Brienne,” Sansa said, her cheeks a delightful shade of pink as she smiled tightly at the other woman.

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be just in the other room. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it,” Brienne said, giving Sansa a pointed look. It occurred to him that she probably assumed he was trying to take advantage of Sansa, based on her words, which seemed to have a deeper implication.

Sandor rolled his eyes at her unspoken accusation and pushed past her, ignoring the glare she shot him. It was only when they were both in the living room alone that she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, hissing, “Clegane, if you lay a hand on that girl, you’ll be out on your ass so fast you won’t even know what hit you.”

He wrenched his arm away from her and said, “Are you fucking kidding me? How long have we been traveling together, huh? And you honestly think I would do something like that? You have to know me better than that by now.”

She looked a bit taken aback, but didn’t let up and said, “What I know is that men like you can do a lot of damage to girls like her. So keep your distance if you know what’s good for you.”

“Men like me are the only thing keeping girls like her safe in this world,” Sandor sneered, pushing past her once more and heading into the room he’d claimed as his own (a home office, with no bed unfortunately), shutting the door tightly behind him. It seemed young women brought out the protective side in Brienne, making her completely disregard reality. If Sandor was a threat to anyone, it was her for being so pig-headed, but he was much more bark than bite unless threatened directly, so she didn’t have anything to worry about.

Not to mention, whatever was about to happen in the kitchen would have been consensual on both his and Sansa’s parts. She was practically the instigator, with the way she’d leaned towards him. Of course, he could have misread the whole situation. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, and she hadn’t moved at all. _Maybe_ he was only seeing what he wanted to see, not what was actually happening. It had all ended before it would truly begin, so he would never know.

Yet as he settled into his sleeping bag, his mind went immediately back to the moments before Brienne had interrupted them. Over the course of his life, Sandor had been with very few women, and none of them had looked at him like Sansa had then. As he pictured her face, he could almost swear there was a desire there, but he’d never know if that was how she really felt or not. He was certain that whatever had almost happened likely wouldn’t occur again. No doubt Sansa had just been caught up in her emotions and acted on some kind of impulse. After all, he wasn’t totally sure if her attraction to her was real, or if it was just because she was the first age appropriate woman he’d been around in months. At least, the first age appropriate woman who didn’t piss him off at every turn. If Sansa had wanted to kiss him then, it was probably because he was the only single man in her vicinity and they’d just shared a moment together, not because she was genuinely attracted to him.

Rather than dwell on it any longer, Sandor turned over and buried himself into his pillow, hoping to fall asleep easily with the image of Sansa’s face dancing behind his eyelids until he finally drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally starting to heat up with Sansan! Well, it's more of a tiny spark, but still. :) It's a step in the right direction for these two and that's what matters!


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa gripped the counter, her knuckles white as she tried to steady her breathing, which had suddenly become heavy. Her mind was racing as she tried to make sense of what just happened. Sandor had put his massive hand on her shoulder, and then, without thinking, she’d put her hand over his own. It was their first physical contact since they’d met, and while it had been strange at first, it became comfortable quickly, much to her surprise. Sandor’s skin had felt rough under her fingertips, and she’d resisted the urge to rub it back and forth to get to know it more intimately. His hand had also been incredibly large, she’d noted, practically dwarfing hers and making him seem all the more masculine to her.

And then he’d looked into her eyes, and without understanding how it happened, all of a sudden she’d wanted to kiss him. She would have, too, if Brienne hadn’t interrupted them.

What puzzled her was why she’d even wanted to. Up until now, Sandor had been nothing but unpleasant to her. That very afternoon he’d completely ignored her attempt to empathize with him and make him feel less embarrassed about telling her about his past. And she’d done so in a very personal, painful way that wound up leaving _her_ embarrassed when he didn’t respond.

But then he had surprised her by coming in here and being so sweet in his awkward way, a side of him that she’d yet to experience for herself until tonight. It was obvious to Sansa that being kind was not his strong suit, but he’d tried for her anyway, something that touched her deeply. Why he’d done so she couldn’t say. Still, it had changed something between them, and it seemed there was no going back now. Just picturing his face made her flush and her body tingle, hot all over. She wondered what his lips would feel like on her own.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the reappearance of Brienne, who looked mildly uncomfortable as she approached. It probably didn’t take much for her to figure out what had been about to happen between her and Sandor. Still, she had no desire to discuss her feelings with someone she’d only known for a short time, and so she only smiled politely, playing dumb as she said, “Did you need something, Brienne? I was just about finished up in here.”

Sansa watched her carefully, as the blonde woman bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before saying, “I want you to know that you can trust me, Sansa. If Clegane was being inappropriate with you, don’t be afraid to say so. Keeping everyone safe is my highest priority, and you have my word that I’ll do everything I can to make sure you stay that way. Even if it means removing a member of this group to protect everyone else.”

She almost laughed out loud at the idea that Brienne could remove Sandor from their party if he didn’t feel like leaving. And at the idea that he’d go out of his way to hurt anyone he was traveling with. Instead, she schooled her features, maintaining a mask of innocence as she replied, “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean. Sandor hasn’t been anything but appropriate with me. Well, besides his language, of course.” Although not entirely true—the man had held a knife to her throat after all—she didn’t want to give Brienne a reason to distrust Sandor.

However, by the way she frowned at Sansa, it seemed her words hadn’t convinced her at all. It was possible they’d even had the opposite effect. After a beat, Brienne said, “Well, as I said, you have my word that I’ll do what I can to protect you. So don’t hesitate to call on me if you need help. With anything.” With that, she left the room, and Sansa was alone again.

After she’d placed the dishes back where they belonged, she made her way to the bedroom she and Arya would be sharing for the evening. As she rounded the corner, she was just in time to see Pod closing the doorway to their room. His face appeared flushed, though she couldn’t really tell in the darkened hallway. Not wanting to embarrass him, she quickly darted back around the corner and waited until she heard his own door close before continuing on to her destination, curious to what state she might find Arya in.

Sansa hesitated for a moment with her hand on the knob, before pushing the door open and entering the room. Thankfully, Arya was fully clothed, laying on the bed with a satisfied smirk on her face which was lit by the small, electric lantern on the end table. The bed was a mess, with blankets and pillows strewn about, and the space smelled of sex. She didn’t know whether she was more happy for her sister or disgusted that she was going to have to sleep where they’d just made love. Perhaps there were extra sheets around here somewhere…

“Oh hey,” Arya said, breaking her train of thought.

“Hi,” Sansa said, trying to stifle a laugh at how casual she was being, “Been having some fun in here?”

The smirk disappeared as she suddenly looked nervous, saying, “What do you mean?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her mirth still evident, as she said, “Come on, Arya. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t know what’s going on between you and Pod forever. I just saw him come out of here!”

“You saw him? Gods, Sansa, please don’t tell anyone, okay?” Arya said, crawling over to her sister and grabbing her arm, giving it a shake for emphasis, “We haven’t really decided what we’re doing, and I don’t think Sandor or Brienne would approve.”

“Sandor probably wouldn’t care, and Brienne would probably just accuse him of trying to take advantage of you,” Sansa remarked without thinking, rolling her eyes.

“What? Why do you think Brienne would say that?” Arya asked, her head cocked to one side in confusion.

Sansa’s face flushed as she thought of Sandor and their almost kiss in the kitchen. “Oh, she just saw Sandor talking to me and thought he was being inappropriate for some reason. Honestly, she seems like she has something against men,” she replied flippantly, trying to keep her voice light.

Arya sat back against the headboard of the bed, and said, “Well, she used to be a counselor at a domestic violence shelter in Flea Bottom before, so I think that’s where she gets it from. Not like she has a thing against men, just guys that act like Sandor does.”

“Guys that act like Sandor does? And how exactly does Sandor act?” Sansa said, a defensive edge to her voice.

“You know. All macho, swearing, using violence to solve their problems, that kind of thing. She saw a lot of guys like that in the shelter, trying to take their girlfriends and wives back by force. Good thing she’s also a champion kick boxer. A lot of them left in way worse shape than they came in,” Arya explained with a grin, then added, “She just doesn’t understand him. He uses all that posturing bullshit as a front. Like a dog who’s been kicked too many times, you know?”

Sansa nodded, feeling a slight pang of jealousy that Arya seemed to know Sandor better than she did. It was becoming more apparent that they’d spent a lot of time talking in all their travels, and she found herself wishing it had been she instead of Arya who’d been with him. All those long nights by the fire, under the stars, with nothing between them. It sounded almost magical and romantic to Sansa’s overactive imagination.

“Pod was actually Brienne’s assistant at the shelter,” Arya continued when Sansa didn’t say anything else, “They left King’s Landing together after it got overtaken by the dead. I think it still haunts her that she couldn’t save the women who got stuck there.”

“I can imagine,” Sansa said quietly, thinking of her own traumatic exit from the city.

“Look, Sansa, will you please keep me and Pod a secret?” she asked, bringing the conversation back around to her relationship, “Like I said, we haven’t even decided if we want to be a couple or whatever so it would be easier for both of us if nobody knew.”

“I promise I won’t say anything,” Sansa said with a smile, “Your secret’s safe with me. Although, you two should get better at sneaking around if you really don’t want anyone to know.”

“I thought we were being careful. I didn’t realize you’d come to bed so soon,” Arya said, folding her arms over her chest and biting her lip.

“Anyone could have caught him coming out of this room, not just me,” Sansa said, then decided to change the subject, “But enough about that. Do you like him?”

“What are we, in middle school or something?” Arya asked, shaking her head, “Are you gonna pass me a note that says, ‘Do you like-like Pod? Check yes or no.’”

Sansa laughed and said, “Come on. Humor me. I haven’t had a good girl talk session in months. Aunt Lysa wasn’t exactly one for gossip.” She felt a twinge of pain at the mention of her aunt and felt slightly guilty for speaking ill of her.

Arya only rolled her eyes, but she smiled shyly and said, “I don’t know. I think I do. He’s not my usual type. Too quiet and reserved. Not at all like Gendry.”

That was a name Sansa had never heard before. “Who’s Gendry?” she asked, puzzled.

“A boy I liked in King’s Landing. He was a mechanic in the shop across the street from my water dancing studio,” Arya said, her eyes becoming wistful, “He was almost the complete opposite of Pod. Tattoos, muscles, cocky and not afraid to speak his mind. Sometimes I wonder what happened to him.”

From what she knew, water dancing was a style of fencing. Had Arya lied to her and father? “I thought you were taking actual dancing lessons,” Sansa said with a raised brow.

“Sword fighting, dancing, same difference. Fat lot of good it did me anyway. I only learned enough to be able to defend myself against someone who doesn’t know how to fight, so” Arya said, “Anyway, Pod is sweet and gentle, which is nice. But he’s a little timid for my taste. Still, there aren’t a lot of options nowadays, so maybe I should just take what I can get, you know?”

Sansa did know. It had occurred to her that perhaps the only reason she’d wanted to kiss Sandor was because he was the only man in her current proximity who wasn’t engaged with someone else. Yet even as she contemplated that, it rung false in her mind, her heart still fluttering at the thought of him. She’d had a brief fling in the Eyrie with another survivor, a young man named Harry. His fumbling hands and sloppy kisses hadn’t made her feel anything other than briefly comforted by the presence of another person. When she compared him to Sandor, it made her feelings for the latter man seem that much more genuine, whatever they might be.

Sansa finally realized that Arya was staring at her expectantly and came up with the first response she could think of, saying, “Perhaps it was meant to be all along, and through the will of the Seven you found each other.”

“You’re too romantic for your own good, Sansa,” Arya said with a laugh, “Besides, if the Seven made the world go to shit just so I’d wind up with my ‘soulmate,’ that’s pretty fucked up, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sansa exclaimed, “I just meant that maybe they knew the world was going to fall apart, so they set you two on a path to get to one another so you could support each other through these trying times.”

“Sansa, I don’t think it’s anything that grand. We’re just two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time,” Arya said with a shrug, “And it just so happened that we were also attracted to one another. It was either him or the Hound anyway, and no offense to the Hound, but that face isn’t one I want to see above me while I’m getting down and dirty.”

“There’s nothing wrong with his face!” Sansa interjected before she could stop herself, then scrambled to cover up her feelings by adding, “I mean, if you look past the scars he’s not bad looking. It’s unkind of you to speak ill of him when he’s helped you so much.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Sansa’s face for several moments, before saying slowly, “I mean, you have to admit that the scars are kind of hard to look past. Besides, he’s eleven years older than me, so he’s too far out of my age range anyway.”

“They’re not pretty but it’s not like he asked for them,” Sansa replied, frowning and crossing her arms. How could Arya be so insensitive?

“I mean, maybe he did. It’s not like he lived a quiet life before all this. For all we know, he got them doing something stupid, getting in a fight with the wrong people or something.”

Of all the people she had expected to know about his scars, it was Arya. Yet it seemed as though she had no idea how he’d gotten them. Either that, or she was just playing dumb. This also appeared to be the perfect opportunity to get to know a little more about him, so she decided to do a little probing, asking, “What do you mean exactly?”

“I mean, he’s a drunk. Or at least, he was before, when there was booze he could get his hands on. He made a living flipping houses in Flea Bottom—funny because he was so close to Brienne, but they never ran into each other—and he spent a lot of that money on liquor. At least, that’s what he told me,” Arya said, continuing, “So, I asked him if he got his scars when he was drunk, and he just shrugged which I figured was a yes.”

That explained the other night, then. Somehow he’d found some spirits and hadn’t been able to stop himself from consuming them, even if it meant compromising the safety of the group. “It doesn’t matter how he got them,” Sansa finally said, “It doesn’t make him any less worthy as a person.”

Arya snorted and said, “Honestly, Sansa, with the way you’re talking it almost sounds like _you_ like him or something.”

“I do not!” Sansa yelled, then quieted herself, “I just think that Mother taught us better than to speak unkindly about people less fortunate than ourselves.”

“Well, Mom’s not here anymore, so it doesn’t matter what she taught us,” Arya said with a scowl, “Besides, I was just saying I like a guy with a normal face. You don’t need to jump down my throat about it.”

“I wasn’t trying to jump down your throat,” Sansa began, not wanting to fight with Arya so soon after they’d been reunited.

However, Arya wasn’t interested in listening, and interrupted her, saying, “We should go to bed. Need to get up bright and early after all.” She reached over and snapped off the electric lantern, plunging the two of them into darkness. Based on the rustling of the blankets, her sister had found her way to the opposite edge of the bed and had settled in, likely still fuming.

Sansa sighed and laid down as well, knowing that Arya had a point, even if she was only making it to avoid having to talk to her. There was no use pushing the issue. Once Arya had made up her mind, she was too stubborn to let anyone change it. Hopefully by the morning she’d let Sansa apologize and they’d be back to normal. Well, their new normal anyway. This was much closer to their old dynamic, when the world made sense and corpses didn’t walk the earth.

Sleep would not come easily to Sansa, however. Once again, her thoughts had drifted to Sandor, although now they were much different than thoughts she’d had on previous nights. She had a good feeling that Arya was actually telling the truth, which meant that she didn’t know anything about Sandor’s past. It sent a little thrill up her spine to know that he’d trusted Sansa over her sister, even if he’d only told her because he’d been under the influence. Even if Arya knew him better, there were things about him that only Sansa knew, and that made her feel a petty sense of satisfaction.

She couldn’t help but wonder just how much of a drinking problem Sandor had, especially now that alcohol wasn’t so readily available. It wasn’t like he could just drop by the corner store and pick up a bottle of whiskey any time. Perhaps it wasn’t a problem for him anymore, now that he’d been forced to sober up, and the other night had only been a fluke. Surely Arya or Brienne would have noticed something if he was constantly sneaking drinks at every available opportunity. But if he was still dealing with his addiction, it would probably create some major issues for them. After all, if she hadn’t joined him that night, he would have passed out and no one would have been keeping watch, leaving them all in danger.

Honestly, thinking about it was starting to make Sansa’s head spin and she decided it would be best not to ponder on it anymore. She believed it was nothing more than a fluke. It was just a one-time slip up that wouldn’t happen again. There was nothing to worry about.

With her reassurances to herself, Sansa eventually started to drift off. As she was falling asleep, she could hear Brienne and Sandor talking quietly in the hall, and she realized that he was starting his shift to watch over them. Knowing this comforted her, and she fell into an easy sleep, sure that nothing bad would happen to them with Sandor keeping everyone safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, but with a lot of backstory! I really enjoy writing scenes with Arya and Sansa together. All that sisterly bonding and gossip warms my heart. :) Sansa needs to learn to be a bit more withholding if she's going to keep her little crush a secret! Not that Arya would disapprove, but still.


	11. Chapter 11

Sandor’s first waking image was of Brienne looming over him through the darkness. For a moment he was still trapped in a nightmare, and he’d thought she was Gregor come to burn him again. He fought the urge to strike out against her, and eventually it passed, his heart rate returning to normal. Though he couldn’t see her face, it seemed she was frowning at him based on the sound of her voice as she said sternly, “Clegane. It’s your turn to take watch.”

It felt like he’d only fallen asleep a short while ago, but that was just the way of things in the apocalypse. Perpetually tired and always overworked, never a moment to spare to get a proper night’s rest. With a sigh, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the grogginess from himself. Sandor would need to be more alert than this if he wanted to keep everyone safe. Gods, he’d kill for a cup of coffee right about now. Unfortunately they’d run out of the instant shit a while ago and hadn’t managed to find any in the last couple weeks.

“Hurry up, Clegane. We haven’t got all night,” Brienne barked when he didn’t rise immediately.

“Fuck off, woman. Just give me a minute,” Sandor grumbled in return, rising from his sleeping bag and rolling it up.

“Just get out of here already. I’m going to bed,” Brienne said, this time her voice coming from the opposite side of the room, rolling out her own sleeping bag and settling in, judging by the rustling sounds he heard.

Sandor didn’t say another word to her, instead feeling his way along the wall until he felt the solid wood of the door frame. He passed through it and closed the door behind him, then switched on his flashlight so he could make his way down the hall and to the living room without tripping and making an ass of himself. Fleetingly, he imagined himself shining it in Brienne’s face instead to annoy her, but hindsight was 20/20 and it wouldn’t do to dwell on it now.

As soon as he was settled in on the couch, he clicked it back off, not wanting to attract any attention from the living or the dead. Light would either make it known to other humans that there were targets within the home, or draw zombies who were like moths when there was something bright cutting through the darkness. It was unfortunate, as it made it harder for him to spot danger, but luckily, he had the use of his other senses to make up for his lack of sight. The windows were still cracked to allow for him to hear any vehicles, voices, or footsteps approaching. And if any of the dead were nearby, the smell would alert him of that, if they got close enough.

However, he doubted very much that anything of note would happen this evening. In fact, it had been a suspiciously long time since something had happened at all while he’d been keeping watch. It was strange, but perhaps things were dying down now that many months had passed since the start of the shitstorm. In the beginning, it seemed like every other night there was some kind of danger. Either some idiot trying to steal from Sandor or a corpse trying to turn him into a midnight snack. His exhaustion now was nothing compared to how tired he’d been right after the dead had started walking. That was probably the only benefit to being in a group: he actually managed to get some sleep instead of none at all.

Still, even with his measly few hours, he was starting to feel the lack of rest wear on him, and if he didn’t do something now, he’d probably fall asleep on the couch. Sandor stood quickly, stifling a yawn, and proceeded to do some light stretches to get his blood flowing and keep him limber in the event of an attack. Not that he expected one, but better to be prepared.

Even that did little to help wake his ass up, so he decided to do a little exploring around the house. Maybe he’d find something useful, like a hidden cache of instant coffee or a crate filled with energy drinks. Probably not, of course—Sandor was a realist after all—but his tired mind allowed him to hope where normally he wouldn’t even consider the idea. This troubled him, and he made a note to ask Pod if he’d try to take a shift every once in a while. Of course, he’d have to teach the lad a little self-defense first, but he’d do it gladly if that meant he wouldn’t have to sit up every fucking night. He could just hear Brienne arguing with him now as they had, after all, agreed to let the younger adults off from watch duty since they weren’t quite as good in combat. Sandor thought it was high time they taught Arya and Pod to defend themselves anyway. And Sansa, too, if she was interested.

As he prepared his arguments against Brienne in his mind, he turned on his flashlight once more, taking care to aim it at the floor so that the beam of light wouldn’t flash in any of the windows. Creeping as quietly as he could, Sandor moved towards the kitchen, and immediately his mind left his previous thoughts, going straight to Sansa and their almost kiss from earlier. Now that he’d had more time to think about it, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just imagined the whole thing. Not the parts where he’d talked to her and all that, but her leaning up towards him, or her looking at his lips. It had been a very long time since he’d had any sexual contact with a woman, and he thought that it was a lot more likely he was just projecting his desires onto her and twisting what was probably innocent behavior into some distorted want for him. Sansa had probably been glad when Brienne interrupted them, since it gave her a chance to get away from him.

Rather than dwell on that, he busied himself with looking through the cupboards and pantry as quietly as he could. Naturally, his search turned up nothing, until he looked underneath the sink. Sitting tucked away in the back corner was a nice, square, almost-full bottle of white tequila. Immediately, Sandor’s mouth went dry, and his hand reached out for the bottle, only for him to snatch it back to his chest a second later. It had become clear to him from yesterday’s little escapade that he still had problems with alcohol, and there was no way he could let himself even so much as touch this vessel.

Nope, he couldn’t even be in the same room as it any longer. Sandor quickly shut the cabinet door and hurried back to the living room, resuming his post and doing everything he could to keep his mind off the clear liquid that would feel so good burning down his throat. Plus, it would help keep the nightmares at bay if he drank some before bed if he smuggled it into his pack. Besides, the other night had been a fluke, right? He’d been stressed, and he’d let his urges get the better of him. Now, he was calm, cool as a cucumber. _Now_ , he’d be able to control himself. And it would be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

A few seconds later, he was off the couch, and reaching for the bottle under the sink, pulling it out and uncapping it. The smell alone was intoxicating, and before he knew it, he’d drank half the contents within. As he laid on the couch, he felt pure bliss and had to fight the urge to fall asleep. However, that was a fight not easily won, and before he knew it, he’d nodded off into pleasant dreams filled with Sansa surrounded by light.

Light. Bright, white light.

An instant seemed to have passed, and Sandor—a bit more sober than he’d been maybe a couple hours ago—suddenly realized that there was blinding light beyond his eyelids. As he came more into consciousness, he could hear sounds from outside the window next to him, voices of men talking to one another.

Immediately Sandor was on high alert, sitting up straight, his eyes flying open. He had to shield them as soon as he did, because two high-beams were cutting their way through the darkness of the living room. He gritted his teeth to keep from grunting his displeasure, as he tried to listen to what the voices were saying.

“One car, one truck, so at most maybe eight people inside? Doesn’t seem like anyone is keeping an eye on things though. Dumbfucks,” the first voice said in a deep baritone.

“Should be easy enough to kill them and take their supplies then,” a second voice replied, this one higher in pitch and more nasally.

“Let’s head around the house and see if there’s a back way in, the rest of the guys are going to start stripping their cars,” deep voice said, followed by the soft swish of footsteps through grass fading around the house. He heard nasal agree and start walking too. Taking a risk, Sandor parted the blinds and looked out, trying to see if he could figure out how many people were surrounding them. Sure enough, there looked to be at least six more shapes in the darkness, and he knew then that they were in deep shit.

His heart hammered in his chest as he stumbled drunkenly down the hallway, praying that he wasn’t making as much noise as it seemed like. He quickly opened the door to Brienne’s room and groped for her in the darkness, finally finding her form within her sleeping bag. “Brienne, wake up,” Sandor hissed hoarsely, the desperation in his voice evident, “Wake up. We need to go.”

“Clegane?” she asked tiredly, not seeming to catch his fear, “What are you talking about?”

“There’s men outside. Eight of them, I think. They’re going to kill us if they find us, so we need to hurry,” Sandor whispered, “You get Pod, I’ll get the girls.”

She finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and he heard her rustling around quickly as he exited the room and walked down to the end of the hallway, using the wall to keep him steady. Not bothering to knock, he thrust open the door and felt his way over to the bed, unsure of who he’d find. When he reached out, he felt long, silky locks in his fingers, and knew that it was Sansa who was closest to him. Thinking she might scream if she thought there was danger, he clamped his large hand over her mouth and said quietly, “Sansa, I need you to stay as quiet as you can.”

She started to struggle immediately, clawing and tugging at his wrist, apparently more frightened than if he’d just chosen to wake her up normally.

“It’s Sandor,” he said, leaning close to her face and trying to make her less scared, “I’ll take my hand away if you promise to be quiet. Can you do that?”

He felt her nod, and slowly he released her face, already missing the soft feeling of her skin underneath his fingertips.

“There are men outside who want to kill us. We need to be very quiet if we’re going to make it out of this alive. Wake your sister, and start getting packed,” Sandor told her, then added as he heard her whimper, “It’s going to be all right. I’ll keep you safe. Promise.” Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, then straightened up and turned to exit the room to find Brienne. However, before he could even take a step, she and Pod were already there, closing the door swiftly behind them.

A split second later, he heard the sound of glass breaking, and knew they were in even deeper shit than before. “They’re inside,” Brienne breathed, her voice wavering, betraying her fear.

Arya had finally woken up in all the commotion and asked quietly, “What the fuck is going on?”

“We need to leave,” Sandor replied simply, “Through this window.” The master bedroom was on the side of the house furthest from the intruders. If they were stealthy enough, they could maybe climb through and escape into the cornfield adjacent to them and hide for the night. As long as no men were patrolling along the sides of the house, that is. It was probably their best shot, and Sandor pulled open the blinds, squinting into the darkness to see if he could make out any shapes.

When it seemed the coast was clear, he opened the window wide. Thankfully, the house was old and the screen was in bad condition, as Sandor tore through it easily to make a hole for their escape. “Brienne, you first.”

“No, you should have the girls go first, then Pod, then us.”

“What if they run into trouble outside? Who’ll defend them?” Sandor asked, “We don’t have time to argue, so just go.”

“Fine,” Brienne said, obviously irritated, but realizing he was right. She moved past him, and climbed out the window much more nimbly than he expected for a woman of her size.

“Sansa and Arya, you go next,” Sandor whispered, ushering them to the window. Once they climbed through, he turned to Pod and said quietly, “After you.”

They could hear the sounds of rummaging from the room furthest down the hall, and knew it was only a matter of time before they were found. Still, Pod hesitated, so Sandor shoved him towards the window, practically pushing him out of it. He took the hint, and exited, and then it was his turn.

Sandor’s head was spinning as he tried to climb through it as gracefully as he could. However, his hand slipped at the last second, and he landed in the grass on his stomach with a dull thud. He laid there for a moment, expecting the worst, but apparently the group that was left outside was too busy going through their vehicles to notice the sound.

As he righted himself, he could see vaguely that his group had already made for the cornfield. Blessedly, Brienne had had the good sense to get them to safety, probably thinking he could hold his own. Under normal circumstances, he certainly could, but at the moment, he was drunk off his ass. Still, he couldn’t just continue standing here, so he started to run as best as he was able towards his party.

He’d almost made it to the edge of the field and was starting to let his guard down, when he heard quick footsteps behind him, and knew that someone had heard him after all. Unsheathing his knife, Sandor turned around to face his attacker, doing his best to focus on the dark shape moving towards him. However, his vision was doubled, and he swung at the wrong version of the person, who went low and tackled him to the ground.

“Fuck,” Sandor grunted out as his back hit the grass. His knife flew out of his hand, and, left with only his fists, he started to swing wildly at his aggressor.

Though a few punches landed, most of them missed, and he felt the cold steel of a knife pressing to his throat. A new voice said, “I’d stop that if I were you. Unless you want it to be slow and painful.”

Sandor let his arms fall to the ground, hardly able to believe that this was how it was going to end. All the fight drained out of him as he thought about how stupid it had been to open that bottle of tequila. At least the liquor would help numb some of the pain of his death. Not that he’d have been dying at all, if he’d just been able to resist temptation. What a fucking joke.

He waited patiently for the knife to slice against his throat, when all at once, he felt warm fluids gushing over him. “What the fuck?” he asked, squirming to get away. Whoever was atop him fell slack to the side, and he felt a hand reach out for him in the darkness.

“It’s me,” Brienne said quietly, “Hurry up before another of them comes to find us. And help me hide the body.”

“Thanks,” Sandor whispered to her quietly, their faces close together as he stood up with her help.

There was a pause, and though he couldn’t see her face, he dimly realized something in her air had changed. Tension crackled between them as she hissed, “Are you drunk?”

She must have been able to smell the liquor on his breath with them being so close together. When he didn’t answer, she made a noise of disgust and moved away from him. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of a body being dragged, and followed it into the corn where the others were waiting patiently for them to return.

Sandor heard Arya and Sansa start saying they were glad he was okay, when Brienne cut them off, saying sharply, “No one talks until morning. We need to stay moving and stay hidden. Follow me.” She dropped the body with a thud, and then they were off, walking for what felt like ages, until they made it to the other side of the field. The sun was finally starting to come up at that point, and he could see her raise a hand, indicating for them to stop.

When they all halted, he finally took a second to check out the state of himself, and found he was covered in blood, probably from the man who’d tried to kill him. At this point, it had turned sticky, and he desperately wanted to find someplace for a bath. Unfortunately, it seemed as though that would have to wait, as Brienne rounded on him, her face red with anger as she all but shouted while jabbing a finger into his chest, “Clegane, I _cannot_ _believe_ that you would put us all in danger like that. And for what? A bit of cheap liquor? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Guilt washed over him as his shame was exposed to everyone else. He couldn’t bear to look over at Sansa and Arya, who were likely watching him with questioning eyes. Instead, he looked down at the ground, with no words for his defense.

“That’s what I thought,” Brienne said, her voice curling in a sneer, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice. From here on out, we’re going on without you. Take your pack and leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I've had a lot going on personally the last couple weeks so time got away from me and I didn't even realize today was Friday! Whoops. :P But better late than never, right? 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! A bit more action packed than the last couple, that's for sure. Honestly, this chapter has so far been the easiest for me to write, and also the most fun I think. What will our wayward heroes do now?


	12. Chapter 12

“No!” Sansa and Arya managed yelled in unison, each of them rushing to Sandor’s side and flanking him. Although she was still processing what she’d learned—he’d been drunk again? Gods, he really did have a problem—there was no way she was going to let Brienne kick him out just because of that.

Arya jumped to his defense immediately. Sansa watched her sister grab his arm and pull him close, saying, “You can’t do this! You can’t break up the pack just because of one little mistake.” She felt a familiar stab of jealousy but ignored it due to what was happening around her.

“ _Little_? Arya, he almost got us killed because he couldn’t stop himself from getting drunk,” Brienne exclaimed incredulously, “Is that really the kind of person you want watching over you every night?”

Arya was at a loss for words, her mouth hanging open helplessly, the fear evident on her face. Sansa could see tears shining in her eyes as Arya turned and looked at her, clearly asking for her to say something. But what could she say? Brienne certainly had a point, and it was difficult for her to argue with the stubborn woman who’d become their leader.

Her eyes turned to Sandor, and he, too looked just as defeated as Arya. The way his head hung and his shoulders slumped awakened a protectiveness in her she hadn’t felt before, and without thinking, she blurted out, “Perhaps he shouldn’t be watching over us every single night. For as long as I’ve been here it’s just been the two of you keeping watch. Maybe being responsible for our safety every day took his toll on him and that’s why he was driven to drink.”

“So you’re saying it’s my fault? Clegane is an adult and he makes his own choices. I didn’t put the bottle in his hand,” Brienne retorted, obviously becoming more exasperated by the second.

“You may as well have” Sansa shot back, refusing to back down in spite of her nerves which were running wild, tying her stomach in knots and forcing her heart into her throat, “Look how exhausted he is. I noticed it from the moment I joined you. I don’t know how you aren’t feeling the effects yourself. Why shouldn’t we pitch in and help, too?”

Brienne sighed and started to rattle off excuses, saying, “Because you don’t know how to defend yourselves! And—”

Sansa interrupted her and said, “Then teach us how to fight. It’s not like you do much while you’re keeping watch anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” Brienne asked, crossing her arms and scowling at Sansa.

“Well, when I took watch for Sandor the other night, nothing happened. It was pretty boring, to be honest. Maybe we should do it in teams instead, at least for a while. That way someone can always be with Sandor so he won’t have a chance to give in to temptation. And eventually, we can start doing watch in rotations so that everyone gets a chance to sleep a full night once we’re better trained and Sandor has a chance to really think about his actions.”

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Brienne said uneasily, though Sansa could see she was getting worn down.

“It’s a better idea than continuing to treat us like children while also kicking out the best fighter in this group. What are you going to do if he’s gone? Take watch by yourself and try to fight off a gang of thugs solo while the rest of us just sit there waiting to die?” Sansa asked, knowing that this would be the final push Brienne needed to give in.

After a few moments, she deflated, all the righteous anger leaving her as she said, “Fine. But only because you’re right, Sansa. By trying to shield you all, I’ve only been making you more vulnerable. For that, I’m sorry.”

Sansa was surprised by the apology and wasn’t sure how to respond. Eventually she settled on a simple thank you, considering the matter closed. However, Brienne had one more thing to add, as she turned back to Sandor and said, “Listen here. You’re on thin ice, do you understand me? The _only_ reason I’m letting you stay is because they don’t want you to go. But any more slip ups, and you’re gone. Do you hear me?”

Sucking in a breath, Sansa turned to look at Sandor again, expecting him to be angry, but instead he only stared at the ground, still clearly ashamed and defeated. ‘Like a dog who’s been kicked too many times’ just as Arya had described him before. He didn’t speak, only nodded his agreement, and that seemed to satisfy Brienne, who instructed them to follow her back to the house. Seeing him so broken made her heart ache, but she resisted the urge to comfort him, instead leaving his side as soon as she could.

Whatever misguided attraction that had been developing within her needed to be set aside, as it was becoming clear to Sansa that Sandor had problems she wasn’t equipped to deal with. Just seeing him in this state was showing her an altogether new side of him that was not flattering. Covered in blood, swaying from side to side with glassy eyes, he didn’t look half the man that had saved her from certain death only a short while ago. Even though he’d been coarse and rude then, he’d still had his dignity and she’d take that version of him over the shell of a man was walking behind her now. She wondered what Arya thought of this, and decided to ask her about it as soon as they were alone together.

Once they got closer to the house, Brienne motioned for them to come closer. After they were all huddled around her, she whispered, “Stay here while I go ahead to make sure they’ve actually left. I’ll come back once I know it’s safe.” Everyone nodded their agreement, and then she disappeared through the corn while they stood in silence. Sansa noted Pod and Arya sharing a worried look with one another, as they waited tensely for Brienne’s return.

Eventually the plants started to rustle and immediately Arya took up a position of defense, her knife out and poised for an attack. Pod stood behind her with his fists raised, though he looked about as threatening as a kitten, especially standing so close to Arya’s ferocity. Sandor, too, tried to take up a fighting stance, but between the swaying and obvious drunkenness it was clear he’d only hold them back if it turned out that they needed to defend themselves.

Thankfully, Brienne’s head appeared in between the stalks a second later, and they all relaxed until they saw the look on her face. Sansa could see her brows knitted together, her jaw tight as she motioned for them to follow her. Once they got to the edge of the field, she could see why.

The house they’d been staying in had been wrecked, with the windows smashed in and the doors ripped off their hinges. ‘You’ll pay for this’ was written in blood on the wall closest to where they were standing, the corpse of a man she didn’t recognize underneath it. Worse yet, their cars were totaled, likely wrecked by the men who’d meant to kill and rob them the previous evening. Just the sight of it all filled Sansa with more fear than the living dead ever had, and she wondered to herself how people could still be so cruel to each other even now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Brienne’s venomous voice as she rounded on Sandor once more, pushing her finger into his chest as she said, “ _This_ is all your fault, do you hear me? I want you to look at this and think about what you’ve done! We’re lucky the Seven or fate or whatever intervened last night, because if it hadn’t we’d be just like that man there, do you understand that?”

The way Brienne was browbeating him reminded Sansa very much of a person trying to rub their dog’s nose in something, and it was so painful to watch that she couldn’t stop herself from shouting, “Enough!”

Both of them looked her way, clearly as surprised by her outburst as she herself was. Sansa took a moment to collect herself before speaking more evenly, “He understands, okay? He gets it. So just let it go. We need to focus on what we’re going to do now that we have no vehicles and basically no supplies. Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.”

Brienne ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it out, before sighing and saying grudgingly, “Fine. You’re right. Let’s see if they left anything behind.” She marched away from them, making her way around the house to where their cars had been parked. Pod and Arya followed suit—her sister shooting her a grateful look for her intervention—leaving her and Sandor alone.

Sansa meant to make a hasty exit herself, but was stopped by a heavy hand on her shoulder. She didn’t want to encourage his attention anymore than she had to, so as politely as she could, she turned to him and found his face inches from hers. It seemed he was having a hard time staying upright, the weight on her shoulder becoming more intense as he leaned on her and said, “Thank you.”

It seemed sincere, although his glassy eyes suggested that perhaps he wasn’t entirely there. So, rather than taking it to heart, she did her best to put on a detached appearance and said as coolly as possible, “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Arya. She’s obviously very attached to you, and I would hate for her to lose someone else she cares about. Maybe you should consider that the next time you want to take a drink.”

Sansa couldn’t bear to see the look of hurt that he likely wore, and pulled herself away from him as swiftly as she could, walking across the grass to join the others. She could hear his slow footsteps behind her, his dejection even showing in the sound of his gait. Though it pained her to be cruel to someone who was so clearly at rock bottom, she knew it was for the best. And, what she said did have a bit of truth to it. Addiction wasn’t a problem she totally understood, but still, it seemed clear to her that the risk he took wasn’t worth what he would lose. Hopefully her words had helped him see the light, at least a little bit.

Upon entering the house, Sansa could see that there was nothing salvageable within. Every piece of furniture was trashed, broken into pieces or carved up with knives. The dishes she’d so painstakingly tried to clean the previous evening were smashed on the kitchen floor, pieces of ceramic littering the tiles. The bedrooms were no better. It appeared that the only things their little group had left to them were the supplies they’d managed to carry out on their backs. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying at the hopelessness of the situation.

Looking to Arya, she saw that her sister was in no better shape, her arms wrapped around Pod’s torso, her face buried in his chest while he comforted her. His face was white as a sheet, almost as though he were about to be sick. Neither of them appeared to be bothering to hide their relationship, which Sansa distantly thought it was high time they came clean about to everyone anyway. Brienne was too distracted to notice, her hands sweeping through her hair as she gritted her teeth. The blonde woman’s frustration with the situation was evident, but it was apparent that she was trying to keep her mouth shut for the sake of the group.

“Fuck me,” Sandor blurted out from the doorway, finally breaking the heavy silence that had settled upon them.

“Fuck you indeed,” Brienne said, her eyes focused elsewhere as she did her best to keep her composure. It was one of the first times Sansa had ever heard her swear, and it sounded strange coming out of the woman’s mouth.

After taking a few more moments to grieve the loss of their supplies and their only modes of transportation, Sansa decided she no longer wanted to wallow. The more time they sat there, the more likely they were to make themselves targets to the group who obviously wanted their revenge. They needed a plan. They needed to move forward.

Clearing her throat, she said, “So, what do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

“We don’t go anywhere. Not without cars,” Brienne said hopelessly with a shake of her head.

“Look, we can’t just give up because of one little setback—” Sansa started, but was interrupted as Brienne rounded on her this time.

“ _This_ is not ‘one little setback,’ Sansa. This is an enormous setback. We may as well just pack it in and call it quits now. Or do you think we should walk all the way to Winterfell?” Brienne’s tone was scathing, the stress of the situation obviously getting to her more than she wanted to let on. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions, her bitterness spilling over into her words.

“Yes, I do think we should walk all the way to Winterfell. Or at least, walk until we find something that can get us there,” Sansa said, then added, “Unlike you, I’m not willing to just give up. I’m a Stark, and Starks are wolves who don’t just lie down and die, right Arya?”

Her sister looked a bit startled to be put on the spot, but she started to smile as she spoke. “That’s right,” Arya said, Sansa’s enthusiasm catching, “We can’t just sit here and wait for them to come back and kill us. We need to keep going, Brienne.” Pod nodded alongside her, his arm still wrapped around her shoulder, cradling Arya to him.

Brienne’s eyes scanned over them, her face a mixture of shock and resignation as they banded together to push back against her sudden negative attitude. After another moment, she finally sighed, leaning up against a nearby wall and saying, “You’re right. I’m sorry. This has been a very long night for me. But if we want to survive, then yes, we should keep going. Let me consult my maps, and then we can be off.”

With that, she rummaged in her backpack and pulled out her atlas, her fingers tracing over the lines as she studied it carefully. Sansa came to look over her shoulder, Arya and Pod following suit, wondering what route she was planning now that they needed to avoid a band of brigands. Eventually Brienne spoke up, saying, “Since we no longer have vehicles, there’s no point in sticking to the main roads. Or any roads for that matter. It’ll only make us easier to find and easier to rob. If we cut this way through the farmland and forests we should be able to make it to the Crossing in...a few weeks maybe? If we’re on foot the whole time, that is.”

“Works for me,” Sansa said, giving Brienne a pat on the shoulder, “What about everyone else?”

“Anything is better than staying here,” Arya said, her fists clenched in determination.

“Agreed,” Pod replied, some color finally returning to his face now that their outlook wasn’t so bleak.

When Sandor didn’t say anything, they all turned to him to see what he thought, or if he was even still awake. He was seated on the floor, slumped over, his face was twisted with guilt as he finally said, “You should go on without me.”

“We’ve already been over this, Hound, and we’re not going anywhere without you!” Arya declared, walking over to where he sat on the floor and crouching down beside him, continuing more softly “You’re part of the pack. Part of _my_ pack. And I’m not leaving you behind.” Sansa watched as she reached out and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. The moment seemed intimate, and once again a tiny bit of jealousy rose within her. She turned away, quashing the feelings and forcing herself to concentrate on the journey instead.

With a bit of help from Arya, Sandor made it to his feet, and then they left the ruins of their safehouse behind.

They walked back through the cornfield that they’d escaped in the night previous, and eventually found themselves where they’d been that morning. Their pace was faster now that Sandor had sobered up some and was able to walk without stumbling so much. Of course, the more he sobered up, the surlier he became, until no one would speak to him without fear of him snapping at them.

The sun rose and began to set before they found a place that Brienne thought was suitable for rest. “It’s about damn time,” Sandor grunted, dropping his pack with a scowl, “All this fucking blood has got me so itchy I can’t think straight. I’m going to go wash it off.” Sansa could empathize; the dried gore looked as bad as it probably felt. She had to stop herself from staring as he stalked off to the nearby stream to bathe, the image of him naked, muscular, and wet coming unbidden to her mind.

Such thoughts wouldn’t do, and she needed something to keep her mind off of the salacious ideas that were blossoming in her imagination. Without thinking, Sansa blurted out, “I’m going to collect some firewood.”

“All right, just be careful and keep your guard up,” Brienne said with a wave of her hand, then added, “Take Arya with you as well. No one should go anywhere alone in these woods.”

Arya trotted over to her and linked their arms, saying, “Let’s go! This’ll be just like when we were little and father used to take us camping in the Wolfswood!”

“Actually, Arya, I never went, remember? I thought the dirt and the bugs were too gross,” Sansa said, following along into the bushes.

“Oh yeah...Well, so much for that now, huh?” Arya laughed, grinning at her. Sansa was happy to see her spirits had improved considerably since this morning.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sansa commented wryly, her eyebrow raised in her sister’s direction.

Arya’s grin faltered for a moment, and she started to look more serious as she said, “I’m just trying to make the best of it. No point in wallowing after all. At least, that’s what Pod said when I wouldn’t stop complaining.”

“Well, I for one am glad to see a smile on your face after everything that’s happened,” Sansa said, giving Arya’s arm a squeeze, “We should all follow Pod’s advice, huh?”

“Especially Sandor,” Arya said grimly, her expression becoming even more dour, “I still can’t believe he was drunk again.”

Again? Did she know about the night in the convenience store? “What do you mean?”

“Well, when we first met he still had kind of a problem. He thought I didn’t notice, but every time we stopped for supplies he was always trying to sniff out some alcohol like a bloodhound or something,” Arya explained, “I finally told him one day that if he couldn’t stop drinking then I wouldn’t stay with him anymore. I didn’t think he’d care, but that night when he thought I was sleeping he took his entire stash and dumped it out. After that he didn’t touch a drop. Until now anyway.”

With that, Arya separated from her, heading off a little ways away. Sansa could see that her sister was hurt by the fact that Sandor had gone back on his unspoken promise to her, and wondered if he would apologize for his actions. She also couldn’t help but wonder what had pushed him to go back to drinking after it had been made clear to him that he could lose someone he cared about.

They each bent to start picking up sticks and twigs that could help to start a small fire. Although Sansa knew she shouldn’t stray far from her sister, she had gotten so lost in thought that before she knew it she’d managed to completely lose sight of her. She was just about to start calling for Arya when she heard a splashing noise not too far from her. Fear gripped her heart, and she crouched down into some nearby bushes so as not to be seen by whoever or whatever was out there.

Moving as silently as she could, Sansa crept closer to the noise, finally making it to the edge of a small stream. The source of the disturbance was made apparent a moment later, as Sandor stood up out of the water. He looked just as good—no, better—than her imagination. Though she’d gotten hints at his physique, this was the first time she’d ever seen it on display, and it was glorious. Thick muscle wrapped around his frame, making it appear as though he were the Warrior himself standing there. Sansa’s eyes drifted down, eventually landing on his backside, which was just a beautiful as the rest of him. He was truly a sight to behold, and she was so enraptured by him that she lost her grip on the sticks she’d been holding, each one falling into the water below her.

Sandor spun around immediately, his face a mask of ferocity as he growled, “Who’s there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a response to the previous chapter! I finally got a chance to read all your comments and I must say I was a little surprised at the strong reactions. But never fear! Those who guessed Sansa and Arya wouldn't let him leave were correct. He might not be perfect, but he's still someone they care about, mistakes or no. 
> 
> Brienne wouldn't have come around if it hadn't been pointed out to her that they'd be losing their best fighter which is something she can't deny. She knows that if push came to shove and it was her having to protect the rest of them, there'd be a good chance she'd lose if she were outnumbered. In the end, they're better off with at least one more capable person, even if that person is a mean-tempered drunk. And she has seen some good in him a few times, so she hopes there's potential there for him to become a better preson. All in due time.


	13. Chapter 13

Sandor tried to think of a time in his life where he’d been lower. Aside from right after Gregor had fucked up his face, he couldn’t think of when he’d felt worse. Guilt was an emotion that he wasn’t totally accustomed to. In fact, he’d almost never experienced anything even resembling it for most of his life. Every experience he’d had after the fire had hardened him, and turned him into an uncaring bastard who was only concerned with himself. Apparently, Arya was making him soft, which was something he wasn’t sure he was altogether okay with.

Once he reached the stream, he had a look around to make sure there were no zombies—or anyone else for that matter—out and about, before stripping down to nothing and stepping into the cool water. It wasn’t very deep, reaching only mid-thigh on him, but it felt good nonetheless. The only thing that he didn’t enjoy was the feeling of the stones underneath his feet, or on his ass when he sat down to start washing off the crusted blood. It became easier to ignore as he focused on cleaning himself. Sandor dunked his head under the water to wet his hair, which hadn’t seen a drop in ages. In truth, the whole experience was quite cleansing, and he was actually starting to feel better.

Yet he could still picture everyone’s disappointed faces as they realized how he’d put them in danger. Even though Arya and Sansa had run to his defense, it was clear to him that they were unhappy with him. Sansa more than her sister, apparently. Her scathing words still rung in his ears, an obvious rejection of whatever might have been developing between them. Sandor shook his head bitterly, thinking he’d been a fool for ever imagining that there could have been something there.

Arya, on the other hand, had been sweet, showing him that she still cared about him even though he’d hurt her. He didn’t deserve her kindness, and had been totally taken aback by it. It was as though the gods had reached down and swapped their personalities, creating a complete 180 in the girls. Sandor would have found it funny if the situation hadn’t been so serious.

After a few more minutes of silent brooding, he realized his fingers and toes had become prunes, and it was time for him to dry off. Sandor stood, and as he let some of the water drip off of him, he heard some rustling, followed by the sound of something splashing into the water behind him.

Cursing himself for becoming distracted and letting his guard down, he whipped around, and growled, “Who’s there?” He wondered if he’d have time to get over to the bank where his clothes and weapons were before whatever was in the bushes would come out.

Keeping his eyes on the spot where the noise had originated, he waded slowly over to his things, calling out, “I know you’re there! No use hiding. Come out now and save yourself some pain. There’s no telling what I’ll do if I have to come find you.”

There was more rustling, and Sandor knew it was now or never, so he grabbed his knife from its sheath, and launched himself into the bushes, grabbing whoever it was by the shirt collar. A high-pitched shriek emanated from the person, followed by a loud, “Let go! It’s only me.”

Copper hair, blue eyes, and perfect, creamy skin that was flushed red. Apparently, Sansa had been spying on him while he’d been bathing. The idea of her staring at his naked form sent blood straight to his cock, and Sandor became acutely aware of the fact that he was still not wearing any clothes. Without hesitation, he released her, taking a step back to allow the foliage to cover up his stiffening member.

Without thinking, he asked, “Well well, what do we have here? A peeping Tom? You’re the last person I’d expect that from.”

Her expression morphed from scared to indignant as she straightened her shirt and brushed the leaves out of her hair, saying, “I wasn’t peeping! I was looking for firewood, I’ll have you know!”

“Well, there’s no lack of wood here, that’s for sure,” Sandor remarked wryly, unable to control the grin that spread across his face as she flushed an even deeper scarlet.

“That comment was utterly inappropriate,” Sansa sputtered, her eyes still darting down to where his cock was behind the bushes in spite of her obvious embarrassment.

“Not as inappropriate as spying an on innocent man trying to take a bath,” Sandor replied, still grinning like a fool.

Before Sansa could say anything else, they both heard crashing footsteps through the brush, followed by Arya falling out of the woods, clearly out of breath. “I came running as soon as I heard you scream. Are you...all...right?” She finally took in the scene before her, with Sansa blushing and Sandor standing as naked as the day he was born, and her expression immediately changed to one of disgust as she said, “Gods, Hound, put that thing away! What are you trying to do? Blind us?”

“Your sister wasn’t complaining from her front row seats here,” Sandor said, moving his hands to cover himself now that Arya was present.

“I told you, I was _not_ spying on you!” Sansa all but yelled, stomping her foot and scowling at him.

“Whatever you say,” Sandor replied, smirking at her, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed. In private, if you don’t mind.”

Arya laughed as Sansa made an indignant noise and stalked off, her sister moving to follow her. “Arya, wait,” Sandor said to stop her, knowing he owed her an apology and intending to give it, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Only if you put in some clothes,” she said, not turning around to face him.

After he dried off as best he could, he got dressed quickly and came over to her. “Is it safe now?” she asked, still with her back to him.

“Yes, my cock is safely back in my pants where it belongs,” Sandor told her with an eye roll.

“Good. Because no one wants to see that,” Arya said, finally looking at him, adding, “So, what do you want to talk about?” He could tell from the coolness of her tone that she was still upset with him, and for good reason.

Sandor had been letting her down a lot lately, so he figured by now he’d be used to apologizing to her. Still, the words wouldn’t come easily to him as he sighed uncomfortably and scratched the back of his head, eventually saying, “I wanted to say sorry for all of that shit back there.”

“Oh yeah? Is that all you’re sorry for?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at him. Arya wasn’t going to make this easy on him, and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved it after all.

Sandor sighed once more and said, “And for drinking again. I know I shouldn’t have, especially since you made it clear how you felt about it.”

“If you knew how I felt, then why did you do it?” Arya challenged as her frown turned into a scowl.

“I don’t know,” he answered her honestly, “I just had an itch and couldn’t resist the urge to scratch it. I know that’s not really an excuse, but it’s the only explanation I have.”

“Well, it’s not good enough,” she said angrily, moving to make her way back to camp.

He grabbed onto her arm to stop her, and said, “I know it’s not fucking good enough, okay? I wish I had more to say, but I don’t. The only thing I can say is that I’m sorry, I know I fucked up, and I won’t do it again. You don’t have to forgive me now. Hells, you don’t ever have to forgive me. Just know that I’m sorry, and I won’t stop trying to make it up to you.”

With that, he released her. Arya didn’t move for several moments, and he could swear he heard her sniffling. But then, she stomped off, and he was alone again. Sandor decided to give her several minutes so that she could have some time to get settled in before he headed back himself.

As he approached, he could hear the voices of everyone talking with one another. Arya was reminiscing about old family camping trips, and for a moment, he stopped to listen. “...And father would always remember to bring stuff for s’mores. Gods, I would kill for one right now. With big gooey marshmallows and oozy chocolate...”

He next heard Sansa’s soft laugh as she said, “Arya stop! You’re making me hungry!”

“Me too! Guess I better start trying to whip something up, although we don’t have much,” Pod added, his voice taking a despondent turn. The knife in his gut twisted a little bit more with the guilt at knowing that they were out of supplies because of him.

“Just make due for now, Pod. We’ll find something soon,” came Brienne’s reassuring voice afterwards, “There’s a small town a few miles from here. We’ll search it when we get there tomorrow.”

As Sandor stood on the edge of their campsite, he was struck by how little he truly belonged with these people. No matter how much he’d come to care for Arya, it was clear to him that he was more of a burden to her—and the rest of them—than anything. If he were a better man, he’d leave now and stop holding them back. At least for her sake.

Yet through the trees, he caught sight of Sansa, her lovely hair almost glittering in the light of the small fire they’d managed to light. She had a soft smile on her face as she listened to something Arya was saying to her, looking just as lovely as the first time he’d seen her. Perhaps even then he’d been attracted to her, although he was too stubborn and too angry to admit it. But at that time, it was only physical. Now it was becoming something more, and Sandor was just too selfish to let it go.

With a sigh, he pushed his way through the brush and walked into the campsite, cringing internally as all conversation dropped at his approach. It was as though the air was sucked out of the place, and out of instinct, he immediately went on the defensive, saying, “You don’t have to get all fucking quiet just because I showed up. Just pretend I’m not here if I bother you so much.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, but otherwise continued to be silent, and he gritted his teeth in frustration, the normalcy he’d felt at the river seeming so far away now. Sandor stomped his way through the camp, dropping his backpack as far as he was comfortable from the others. After a few minutes, he heard Sansa and Arya start talking again, and the knife he felt twisted in just a little bit more. This was the new normal now, it seemed. It would take some getting used to, a fact he hated himself for.

As he unfurled his sleeping bag, he heard soft footsteps coming in his direction and without looking barked, “What is it?”

He turned and saw Sansa holding a small container in her hands, her expression taken aback as she said, “I was just bringing you dinner. What little there is anyway.” She thrust it forward, and he accepted it from her with a grunt. “You’re welcome” she added sarcastically as she walked away.

Sandor’s eyes lingered on her as she departed before he looked down and saw what was perhaps the smallest portion of baked beans he’d ever had in his life. It was better than nothing, however, and he ate it quickly, making a note to put to use some of the hunting skills he’d learned from his father before his accident. Hopefully he’d be able to catch them some real food so they wouldn’t starve.

After he’d finished, he made to settle in, only to be disturbed by Brienne calling his name and waving him over to the rest of the group. They were sitting in a circle around the fire, and he wondered vaguely if someone was about to bust out a guitar and start singing. Or maybe they’d decided to kick him out after all.

“What?” Sandor asked simply when he reached them, opting to stand over everyone instead of sitting down.

Brienne raised a brow at his attitude, but didn’t comment on it, instead saying, “We were just working out the watch schedule for tonight, and probably for the foreseeable future.”

“Okay, and?” Sandor said impatiently.

“And we need to figure out who’s going to pair off with who, since we’re going to be teaching them some self-defense,” Brienne replied, equally as impatient with him.

“You take the girls, and I’ll take Pod,” Sandor said immediately. It made sense to him to have them pair off based on gender. Not to mention the idea of coming into close contact with Sansa was much more stimulating than he’d like to admit, and he didn’t want to have to deal with any more awkward situations.

“Actually,” Pod began somewhat shyly, “I’d like to learn from Brienne if that’s okay. It’s nothing against you, Sandor. I’ve just known her longer is all.” The young man wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead staring at his hands which were folded in his lap. Sandor wondered if that was true, and clenched his jaw to keep from snarling out a comment to that effect.

Instead he said, “Fine, I’ll be with Arya, and you can take Sansa and Pod.”

Arya refused to make eye contact with him and said, “I’d rather learn from Brienne, too.” Apparently their conversation at the river hadn’t done much to repair their relationship yet.

“So that leaves you and Sansa then,” Brienne said, turning to the redhead in question, “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

Her face was several shades paler than usual, and he had a feeling she wanted to say no. However, she nodded her agreement, saying, “Of course, it’s fine.”

Before Sandor could argue, Brienne nodded in return and smiled, saying, “Well, that’s settled, then. Pod, Arya, and I will take the first watch and wake you and Sansa when it’s time to switch off.”

As much as he wanted to fight it, Sandor knew it wasn’t worth it, and just said, “Fine,” before stalking off to the other side of the camp to try to get some sleep. It didn’t come easily to him, as visions of Sansa and he in close-quarters combat danced around behind his eyes. The idea of putting his hands on her was driving him crazy, and he slept fitfully as a result.

The next thing he knew, the same woman was shaking him awake gently, urging him to get up. At first he thought they were in danger, but then realized she was just trying to rouse him for their turn to watch. “I’m up, I’m up,” Sandor grumbled, pushing her hands away from him. Sansa said nothing, and disappeared as soon as he sat up and started rubbing his eyes. The nerves that had kept him up returned in full force, and he had to force himself to join her by the small fire that crackled in the middle of camp, burning low so it would attract little notice.

They sat in silence for some time, the noise of the wilderness being the only thing that interrupted the quiet. It was almost peaceful except for the awkwardness that persisted. It was evident that she was purposefully ignoring him, based on the way she looked anywhere but at him. Sansa’s blue eyes darted around the campsite, into the woods, into the fire, but always studiously avoided him, conveniently skipping over him when she got close.

Eventually though, her talkative nature took over, and she cleared her throat, saying quietly, “So, aren’t you supposed to be teaching me something?”

“Teaching you something? Like what? Manners? Sewing and embroidery?” Sandor asked sarcastically, mocking her dainty upbringing.

“No,” Sansa replied, the insults likely itching to roll off her tongue, though she apparently restrained herself, “Fighting. How to defend myself. That’s what we talked about.”

Gods help him, he didn’t want to do this. What good would it do anyway? She was a slip of a thing, and would probably be unable to hold her own against anything other than a wet paper bag. If anything, he’d probably hurt her on accident, which would only add to the growing list of reasons people wanted him gone.

When he didn’t say anything either way, she stood up and came over to him, standing above him defiantly with her hands on her hips, saying, “Look, I know you don’t like me and that you think I’m whiny and weak, but if you want that to change, then you have to help me.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, it was that he liked her a little too much. Sandor held his tongue on that thought, and instead said sarcastically, “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“You know I’m right. I’m not stupid. Just teach me something useful,” Sansa said, frowning up at him as he rose to his full height next to her. Now that they were standing so close, he realized just how tall she was for a woman. She was still a head and a half shorter than him, but her face was much closer than he anticipated, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. When she realized he was staring, her expression started to change, and then he turned away, unable to look at her any longer.

Sandor gave himself a few seconds, then stepped away from her, finally turning back and saying, “Well, first thing, we should probably get away from this fire.”

Sansa nodded and they moved so that neither was in danger of being accidentally burned, something Sandor was all too familiar with. “Now what?” Sansa asked, raising a brow at him.

“Now, I’m going to teach you a couple things to deal with the living,” Sandor said, forcing himself to get close to her again, adding, “Turn around.”

She looked apprehensive, but did as she was told, and Sandor took a deep breath before putting her in a headlock. Sansa started struggling immediately, and he said, “Calm down. If you panic, you’ll only pass out faster. Besides, this isn’t real. Just relax.”

Once again, she did a she was told, saying, “Sorry, it’s just instinct, you know?”

“Sure, but that instinct will get you killed, so try not to to listen to what your gut tells you, all right?” Sandor counseled, then continued, “The best thing to do in a situation like this is keep calm, and remember what I’m going to teach you, okay?”

Sansa nodded against his arm, and he kept going, “You want to protect your airway first and foremost, so turn your head to the side and put your fingers on the inside of my arm. Then, tuck your chin down into the crook of my elbow by shrugging your shoulders up and bending your knees to create a space. This will make it really difficult for me to get a hold of your neck and choke you out.”

“Like this?” Sansa asked, following his directions perfectly.

“Yeah, actually,” Sandor said, surprised at how easily she picked it up, “Then, you’re going to want to knock me off balance, so try to hook your leg behind mine by taking a step back.”

“Is this right?” Sansa asked again, this time arching her back and accidentally rubbing her backside against his groin.

He suppressed a groan and tried to focus on the much more important task at hand, saying, “No, not quite. Don’t arch your back, or else you’re only throwing off your own balance. Try to keep yourself standing up straight.”

When she assumed the correct position, Sandor let out the breath he’d been holding and said, “That’s right. Now, the next thing you’ll do, is bend your knees and essentially turn 180 degrees so that you can throw me to the ground. Your leg will trip me up, and you’ll use the hands that are still holding my arm to keep me going. Sound good?”

“Do I really have to do that?” Sansa asked, trying to turn and look at him.

Sandor maintained his hold, and said, “Yeah, if you want to live the next time we get attacked by a group of bandits.”

“Fine,” she huffed, then had him repeat the instructions. Sansa waited a few moments, and he almost thought she wasn’t going to do it, but then a second later she’d executed the move, throwing him into the dirt below. He landed on his back with an ‘oof,’ almost getting the wind knocked out of him.

“I did it!” Sansa exclaimed, jumping up and down in excitement, before she seemed to realize that what she’d done was almost injure him, “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?” She knelt down next to him as he sat up, dusting the dirt out of his hair.

Sandor only chuckled a little and replied, “I’m fine. A little bird like you couldn’t do much to hurt me.”

“Little bird? I’d say I’m a lot tougher than that, considering I just beat you in a fight,” Sansa said, a mischievous grin starting to form on her face.

“That was hardly a fight, and certainly not a fair one,” Sandor said, then added, “If anything, I basically let you win.”

“I’d say I won fair and square, thank you very much,” Sansa said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Whatever you say, little bird,” Sandor said, unable to help himself from cracking a grin of his own at the indignant look she gave him for his new nickname, “Now enough chirping. We have more work to do.”

He taught her a few more moves that would help her get out of some basic holds, and then it was dawn and time for the group to start moving again. Sandor almost regretted the sunrise. After their initial awkwardness, it had almost became fun to teach her how to defend herself. Not to mention, it allowed him a chance to be physically close to her, which was both a blessing and a curse. Still, they would have tonight, and many nights after that. Who knew what would happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little self-defense by the fire is so romantic, right? Looks like Sandor and Sansa are going to have a lot of alone time now, so who knows what might happen on all those nights under the stars, with just the two of them for company? :D


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa’s heart beat loud and fast in her chest as she thought of the night before. They were all walking silently through the woods, so there was little else to do but think, and her evening activities with Sandor were not far from her mind. It was the closest they’d been to each other physically, and she couldn’t help but blush at the thought of his strong arms going around her multiple times in different ways. The hair on them had tickled her lips at one point, and she’d had a strange urge to kiss him where she could reach. Even though she knew in her heart that there was no future with him, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him. It was maddening, especially since she’d told herself she wasn’t going to give in to the growing feelings within her.

Perhaps it was his masculine energy that was to blame for her wayward attraction. After all, the guys that Sansa had dated in the past were mostly soft boys who had no experience with getting their hands dirty, so to speak. Hells, most of them couldn’t even grow a proper beard. Sandor was the complete opposite of them, all calloused hands and huge muscles. Just the thought of his rough fingertips running along the delicate skin of her body sent chills up her spine and a wetness straight between her legs. He was a real man, and she had no doubt that he could please her the way a real man could.

Or maybe it was the gentler side of him she’d glimpsed a few times while they’d been traveling together. Mostly when he’d interacted with Arya, but also a time or two with her. It seemed that under that rough exterior there was a genuine heart within that had been battered too many times. It made sense that he put up walls to guard himself, and she found herself wanting to get past those walls to the person underneath. She had a feeling that if someone got to know him—the real him—then they would have a loyal companion for life.

All Sansa knew for sure was that she didn’t know how long she’d last if she had to keep letting him touch her. She’d been ready to implode last night as he’d put her in various holds. Especially when she’d accidentally brushed against his crotch. She’d felt him get hard almost immediately, and she’d had to resist the urge to jump him right there. It had been far too long since she’d been intimate with someone and even longer since she’d enjoyed it.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted when she bumped into the person in front of her. Arya turned around and said, “Walk much? What’s up with you anyway? You seem out of it.”

Sansa’s face turned crimson as she stuttered, “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, Sansa? You’re awfully flushed. Do you have a fever?” Brienne said, appearing by Arya’s side and reaching out a hand to touch Sansa’s forehead.

“No, really, I’m fine,” Sansa said, politely pushing Brienne’s hand away, “I’m just not used to the new sleep schedule yet.” Her eyes darted past them to Sandor, hoping that he wasn’t looking her way, only to find that his steel gray eyes were watching her curiously, making her blush spread down her neck to her chest.

“If that’s really all,” Brienne said, seeming unconvinced, “There’s a small town up ahead, and we’re going to try to look for food.”

Sansa’s stomach rumbled at the thought. They had very little in the way of breakfast this morning, and she was already starting to feel the effects of having gone without a proper meal for twenty four hours. She nodded her agreement, and they prepared themselves for any confrontations that might arise.

The town was like any you would find along a highway in the countryside: small, sparse, and quiet. As it came into view, it almost looked idyllic.

Almost.

Even from the distance, Sansa could see rusted, abandoned vehicles and debris littering the ground. It was obvious to her that the effects of the apocalypse had reached every corner of Westeros, leaving nothing untouched. Her thoughts drifted to Winterfell, and she wondered if they would find it in a similar state. The idea of her beloved home being in ruins made her shudder. She quickly pushed the notion away and switched her focus to watching out for threats as they neared the town.

There appeared to be no people, undead or otherwise, which made Sansa breathe a sigh of relief. The less confrontations the better. After all, she’d only had one lesson with Sandor, and she had no desire to put the skills she’d learned to use just yet. In fact, if she never had to use them, that would be just fine with her.

They stopped when they reached the edge of town, standing on the shoulder of the road. A couple houses and a gas station sat quietly waiting to be explored with nothing else of note nearby. Brienne turned to the group and said, “Let’s split off in groups. Pod, you and Arya can come with me. We’ll take the gas station. Sansa and Sandor, can you handle the houses?”

Sansa blushed for what felt like the millionth time that day as Brienne automatically paired her and Sandor together. When she didn’t say anything immediately, he raised a brow at her and answered Brienne, “Yeah, we’ve got it. Let’s get this over with.”

Brienne nodded, and together they made their way to the structures. She felt like her entire body was humming with nervous energy as she and Sandor were once again thrust into a situation in which they were alone. It was so distracting that, without thinking, she simply reached for the knob to open the door. However, Sandor’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, startling her.

She looked up at him with wide eyes as he said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open slightly as she released the knob, stuttering out, “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” he said, letting her go, “I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me one day, little bird.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the nickname that he’d come up with last night and the way he used it so casually now. It left her at such a loss for words that the only thing she could do was shrug, to which he chuckled, then made his way around the perimeter of the house, presumably to look in through the windows.

Sansa waited patiently and when he returned, Sandor told her, “Looks like the coast is clear on the main floor. Still best to proceed with caution though, so stay behind me and let me lead.”

She nodded, and slowly they made their way into the house, with him taking point. He had his knife in hand, and Sansa found herself hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. It didn’t appear likely that he would, given the state of disarray in the house. The living room furniture was overturned, the place looking to have been ransacked long ago.

Her heart sank at the thought, as her stomach rumbled sadly once more. Sansa knew that this place was probably totally picked over, and at best they’d only find remnants of things that were once edible. Sandor seemed to be thinking the same thing as he commented, “Well fuck. Looks like we’re not going to have much luck here.”

“You’re probably right,” Sansa said dejectedly, then tried to be optimistic, “But we should still try. Let’s look around a bit.”

Sandor grunted his agreement, and proceeded into the kitchen. Sansa poked around the dining room—whose contents were also in bad shape—before giving up and deciding to head upstairs instead. Perhaps someone had hoarded some snacks in their bedroom. It would be better than nothing anyway.

The first room had nothing but a bed, and the second was an office that contained a mini-fridge which held a few beers. They were likely expired, and considering Sandor’s issues, Sansa decided to would be best to leave them there. Her only hope was the third and final room on the level, though she was doubtful there would be any food.

As she approached the bedroom, she thought she heard a faint scratching sound, but chalked it up to nothing more than some trees outside. After all, both the living and the dead made more noise than that.

Or so she thought.

The moment Sansa opened the door, a creature leapt out, causing her to scream as she was launched onto her back. Seconds later, the teeth of a zombie were gnashing dangerously close to her face. Based on the level of decay—or lack thereof—it looked like it had turned not too long ago. That meant it was much stronger than usual, and she was having trouble pushing it off of her.

“Please, no!” Sansa shouted, though the zombie wasn’t listening to her. It was only interested in consuming the flesh of her face, its spit falling in drops on her cheeks.

She struggled, her muscles threatening to give out any moment as tears formed in her eyes. Was she really going to die here? This was one of her closest calls yet, and the terror she felt at losing her life and leaving Arya without any family was becoming very real.

It was just when she’d given up hope that she heard the sound of thundering footsteps and the roar of Sandor’s voice. Moments later the creature was pulled off of her, and she watched as he plunged his knife into its skull, effectively killing it.

He tossed the body aside like it was a rag doll, then bent down and reached his hand out to her, asking, “Are you all right? Were you bitten?”

It was far from the lecture she was expecting he’d give her, and his kindness paired with her fear made her launch herself into his arms, choking out a sob as she did. At first, he stood there awkwardly, and she almost thought he would push her away. But then, his arms encircled her, almost crushing her small frame to his muscled chest.

As she cried into his shirt, she felt his hand stroking her hair as he whispered to her that it was all right and that she was safe. And for the first time in a long time, she actually believed it. Here in Sandor’s arms, she felt like no harm would come to her. He’d rescued her more than once now, in spite of how little regard he seemed to have for her.

She pulled back to thank him and found him staring down at her with an intense expression. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his hold on her tighten. Sansa’s eyes darted to his mouth, and she wondered for a moment if he meant to kiss her. Her heart started to pound at the thought, and even though she knew it was a bad idea with her emotions running high, she would still let him if he wanted to. It seemed as though he was leaning in, so she let her eyes flutter closed in anticipation of his lips meeting her own.

However, before anything else could happen, a crashing sound from below and pounding footsteps on the stairs alerted them to the presence of another in the house. Sansa expected to be frightened, but found that she wasn’t as Sandor pushed her behind him, readying himself for whatever danger it might be. It was only when Arya appeared at the top of the stairs that he relaxed.

“We heard screaming! What happened?” Arya asked, frantically pushing past Sandor to get to Sansa.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Sansa said, still sniffling as she wiped tears from her face, “A zombie almost got me, but Sandor saved me yet again.”

“You didn’t get bitten did you?” Arya’s voice was strained as her hands started feeling around Sansa’s arms and body for any bites.

“Almost, but I’m okay. I promise,” Sansa said, doing her best to reassure her sister.

Arya threw her arms around her and breathed a huge sigh of relief before turning to Sandor and giving him a hug as well. Sansa watched as he returned her embrace awkwardly and was reminded of what had transpired between them only moments ago. “Thank you for saving my sister again, Hound. I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Arya said, her voice muffled by Sandor’s shirt.

Sandor just chuckled and ruffled Arya’s hair, saying, “I’m sure you’d be able to handle yourself just fine wolf-bitch.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t want to have to find out,” she replied, then added with a grin, “Now come downstairs. We found a decent stash in the store!”

The two of them went ahead, with Sansa following behind slowly, still in shock. She could feel her body shaking, and she very badly wanted to sit down. It only took Brienne one look to see that she was in no shape to travel, and so she suggested they make camp for the day here in town.

“Yes, but maybe in the other house,” Sansa suggested, not wanting to spend another moment where she’d almost died.

“Of course,” Brienne said, giving her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Sansa, Pod, and Arya waited outside while Sandor and Brienne swept the house, making sure it was clear of any threats before the three of them were allowed inside. Once it was deemed safe, Sansa immediately found a bedroom and collapsed on the bed, falling into a deep sleep, the stress of the day’s events having worn her out already.

She awoke again many hours later. It was dark, and the only sound she could hear was Arya snoring softly beside her. A peaceful feeling overtook her for only a moment before her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything in quite awhile. Doing her best to be quiet, she slid out of the bet and softly padded to the door, making her way to the living area. It was there that she found Sandor, sitting by the window, a small lantern lighting the space.

He turned immediately at the sound of someone approaching, his face relaxing once he saw it was her, and said, “Hey there. Feeling better?”

Sansa was momentarily taken aback by his concern for her well-being, but smiled all the same and said, “For the most part. I could use something to eat though.”

“Right,” Sandor said, bending down and reaching into his pack, pulling out a small bag which he tossed to her, “Something they found in the gas station.”

Sansa caught the package which turned out to be beef jerky. She’d hardly ever found junk food appealing in her normal life, but right now, this looked like a delicacy. She tore into the package and ate it with gusto, savoring every last morsel.

“Hungry, huh?” Sandor asked with a slight chuckle in his voice.

She flushed, realizing how unladylike she must have looked scarfing down the jerky so quickly. “Sorry, I guess I was.”

“No need to apologize. We’re pretty much all in the same boat,” Sandor replied with a wave of his hand.

“I suppose that’s true,” Sansa said with a shrug. He didn’t say anything else, and she shifted uncomfortably, before asking, “Do you mind if I join you?”

Sandor looked a little surprised, and said, “Sure, if you want to, but don’t feel like you have to. Brienne and I agreed that we should let you rest for as long as you needed.”

“That’s very kind, but I think I’ve slept enough,” Sansa said, moving to sit on the recliner adjacent to him, “Besides, I’m supposed to be on watch with you, right?”

“Yeah, it was a tough sell convincing Brienne that I would be fine on my own. She scoured the house for liquor to make sure I ‘couldn’t compromise the safety of the group’ again,” Sandor said, mimicking the sound of her voice with a slight sneer, then after a moment added quietly, “Not like I can blame her I guess.”

Sansa felt like this would be a good opportunity to get to know him and understand what he was dealing with when it came to his alcoholism. However, she knew she would have to tread carefully and tried to select the right words, eventually saying, “Have you always had a problem with alcohol?”

Sandor raised his good brow at her, looking a little shocked that she was asking. She worried for a moment that she’d been too forward, but then he sighed and started talking, “No, not when I was younger, but I guess that’s probably obvious. I didn’t start drinking until after all that shit happened with Gregor.”

She thought that maybe she should bring up the conversation they’d had, or acknowledge what he’d told her, but Sandor didn’t leave room for her to say anything, continuing on, “It was the only thing that helped me to cope once they’d weaned me off the pain medication. I wasn’t well connected enough to get the opiates that I craved, so I would break into my father’s liquor cabinet instead. Of course, he was too buried in his grief to notice or give a fuck.

“As soon as I was old enough to get it legally I don’t think I ever went a day without drinking. It was the first thing I’d do in the morning, and the last thing I’d do before I went to bed. I told myself it was because I enjoyed it, not because I needed it. It wasn’t until all this bullshit started that I had to admit that I had a problem.”

“Did you go through withdrawal?” Sansa asked, her heart aching for him.

“Big time. Obviously I brought a stash with me when I fucked off of King’s Landing, but that didn’t last me long. As soon as I ran out, I had the shakes, heart palpitations, sweats, nausea, the works. I don’t know how I managed to keep myself alive in spite of all that,” Sandor said with a shake of his head.

“Perhaps the gods saved you because they have plans for you,” Sansa mused without thinking, blushing at her inability to keep her thoughts to herself.

Sandor barked out a laugh and said, “You say that as if the gods give a fuck about us. As far as I’m concerned, the living dead are just more proof that the gods aren’t real at all.”

She was reminded of the conversation she’d had with Arya not that long ago, and she could see why her sister got along so well with Sandor. They both seemed to share the same opinion when it came to the gods and fate. However, she wasn’t about to let their cynicism affect her views. “You said yourself you don’t know how you managed to stay alive. Who’s to say there wasn’t some sort of divine intervention? After all, if you had died, then Arya and I would never have been reunited.”

“So you’re saying my only purpose in life was to rescue you and your sister, eh? I guess my job here is done and I can die in peace now,” Sandor said, a sarcastic smirk on his face.

“That’s not what I meant!” Sansa exclaimed, as he laughed at her.

“I know what you meant. I just don’t agree with you,” Sandor said as his chuckles subsided.

“Well, you don’t have to agree with me,” Sansa said defiantly, “I know that there’s no way it could have been a coincidence that you showed up when I was trapped in my car. You’ve saved me more times than I can count, and that means something whether you believe it or not.”

Sandor’s face softened, and she wondered if her words had struck a chord with him. She certainly hoped so, because she’d meant what she said. Whether or not they had, she wouldn’t find out, because he deftly sidestepped the subject, saying, “Well, how’s about another lesson in self-defense since you’ve needed so much rescuing? Maybe you can save yourself for once instead of me having to do it for you. You never know when I won’t be around.”

Before she could answer, he’d risen off the couch and held his hand out to her to help her out of the recliner. As Sansa took his hand and stood, she looked up at him and said, “I have a feeling you’ll always be there when I need you. If there’s one thing you are, it’s loyal. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“We’ll see,” he replied simply. And with that, Sansa spent the rest of the evening learning various techniques for how to avoid being attacked by the undead. She did her best to absorb all the things he taught her, not wanting to be caught of guard again. The last thing she needed was another encounter like today’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is certainly well on his way to making amends. It appears Sansa has already found it in her heart to forgive him, but only because she's so drawn to him. Hopefully everyone else will be able to follow suit!
> 
> As a side note, my life has gotten crazy busy lately. The universe has reminded me that I am, in fact, an adult, and have a lot of responsibilities which are piling up by the minute. I'll try to keep updating regularly, but know that if there are late updates that I'm very sorry and real life has just gotten in the way. :/


	15. Chapter 15

For the first time since the beginning of the apocalypse, days seemed to fly by for Sandor. Each passed quickly one into the next, all of them going more pleasantly than the one before. Arya—and by extension everyone else—had finally forgiven him for his drunken mistake, so the group had settled into a nice routine. For once, everyone was getting along, with even Brienne and he having struck an uneasy truce. In fact, before he knew it, they were nearing the Crossing. Brienne had said that with any luck they’d reach it by next week. Then from there, it was on to Winterfell.

Still, even as pleasant as the days were, it was the nights that Sandor looked forward to the most. That was the time he got to spend with Sansa, alone and undisturbed. Every evening they had together only made them more comfortable with one another. Most of the time they talked about anything and everything. It was the most Sandor had ever opened up to someone before, and he found it to be easier with Sansa than it had been with anyone else.

Much more enjoyable was the way she’d eventually opened up to him. She’d told him many things about herself, mostly of her life from before. Sansa had spoken fondly and sadly of her family, telling him stories about her siblings and her parents. She’d also talked of going to school and how she’d hoped to complete a master’s degree and how those plans had unraveled when the dead came back to life. Part of him wondered if she would have ever given him the time of day if the world hadn’t gone to shit. Though he doubted it, he knew it was no use wasting his time thinking about it. They were here now, and that was what mattered.

There was a small part of him that found himself wishing he _had_ met her before all this. Romance wasn’t something that came easily to him in the first place, and it was even harder now that things like taking someone to the movies or to dinner were no longer an option. Sansa was a woman who came from money and probably expected finer things like diamonds and roses from a potential suitor. All he could offer her were cans of fruit cocktail and a bouquet of dandelions picked from the side of the road. Not exactly the kind of gifts that wooed a woman, even in this day and age.

Foolishly, he’d been on the lookout for jewelry stores in any towns that they happened to pass through. Sandor knew that his main focus should be on supplies and food, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to find her something worthy of her that would show just how much he’d come to care for her. It was stupid, but the idea had taken root in his brain and wouldn’t let him rest until he’d seen it through.

Unfortunately, most jewelry stores had been looted very early on, when people thought things like gold and diamonds would still be worth anything. When people thought there was still hope for things to return to normal. When there was still hope at all.

However, today happened to be Sandor’s lucky day. They’d made their way along the outskirts of a moderately sized town which had a large grocery store and a strip mall just on the edge. And there, on the very end of the mall, sat a jewelry store with its windows and door completely intact. While that didn’t necessarily mean there was anything left inside, he still hoped there would be at least one thing left over that he could present to Sansa.

In order to go there by himself, Sandor made up some excuse about having to relieve himself, and snuck in through the back door. Aside from all the dust, the place was virtually untouched. It looked almost as though there hadn’t been an apocalypse at all. The cases were still all in one piece, with different jewels glittering inside each one.

He knew he had to be quick—he could only claim that he’d been taking a shit for so long—so he skimmed over each display, hoping something would jump out at him. Before he’d even walked into the store, he knew that a ring was all wrong. Earrings weren’t really practical either (too obvious, likely to be noticed by some thief) and a bracelet was out because it would get in the way during a fight. So that left a pendant, which could easily be hidden under a shirt and kept from getting caught on anything.

Sandor’s eyes darted around until they landed on a necklace that sat prominently in a case in the middle of the room. A ray of sunlight from outside slanted across it, making it sparkle more than anything else he’d seen so far. The chain was made of delicate silver links, at the end of which sat a heart-shaped sapphire which was framed by small diamonds. The blue of the stone was gorgeous, and reminded Sandor of her eyes. It was perfect.

All he had to do now was get inside the case. He checked and found it to be locked, so he did a quick once over of the store to see if he could find any keys. However, his sweep turned up nothing, and he was forced to decide between leaving it behind or breaking the glass.

This would be his only opportunity to get her something nice that would show her just what she meant to him. With a deep breath, Sandor wrapped his fist in his jacket and slammed it into the glass, shattering it instantly.

As he fished the pendant out of the case, he could hear Sansa from outside, calling, “Sandor? Are you all right?” Of course she’d be the one to come looking for him.

Sandor slipped the necklace into his breast pocket and rushed outside, doing his best to make it look like he’d been in the middle of going to the bathroom. As he fiddled with his belt buckle and zipper, Sansa came around the corner, her face flushing crimson as she spun around and said, “Oh, sorry! I just thought I heard a crash.”

“Yeah, I knocked some shit over. I’m all good though. You guys find anything?” Sandor asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Yes, actually. We found tents inside the sporting goods store, so we don’t have to sleep outside anymore!” she exclaimed cheerfully, still refusing to look at him.

“I’m decent now, you know,” Sandor told her with a chuckle, “Glad to hear about the tents. One for each of us?”

“No, only two,” Sansa said, finally turning her gaze back to him, “One that’s big enough for five people, and one that’s big enough for three people.” Her face was still flushed, and he wondered if she was thinking about sharing a tent with him. At this point, they often wound up paired together, and he had no doubt Brienne would assume they’d sleep in the same tent. It only made sense, since they still took watch together.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” Sandor remarked, unable to stop himself from smiling at her. Sansa just had a way about her that turned him into a grinning fool, and he didn’t mind in the least.

“You’re right,” she agreed, smiling back at him, radiant as ever, “Did you find anything?”

“Nope, not shit,” Sandor said, then added with a chuckle, “Except my shit.”

“Gross!” Sansa laughed, giving his shoulder a slap, “Now come on. Brienne thinks we should all sweep the grocery store together.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sandor said, adding, “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Though he expected trouble, Sandor was pleasantly surprised to find that nothing went awry when they searched the grocery store. There were signs that someone had holed up there for a while, but they’d clearly left long ago. Whoever it was left behind a cornucopia of canned goods which would be enough to feed their group for at least a month. The haul was so good that Brienne suggested they celebrate that evening.

“Does that mean we can find a safehouse? Or are we going to try to break in those tents?” Pod asked, his face hopeful.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t try to find someplace with actual beds,” Brienne said with a smile, “But only if it’s out here on the edge of town. There’s no telling what threats lie in the center of the city.”

As they walked, Sandor could feel the necklace shifting in his pocket, and he found himself wondering when he should give it to Sansa. A part of him felt compelled to do it as soon as possible, though he couldn’t say why. His gaze drifted over to her, and he watched her chatter excitedly to Arya not actually listening to what she was saying. When she glanced back in his direction and gave him a grin, that’s when he realized why he wanted her to have his gift so badly: he was actually falling for her. And hard. He was probably even in lo—

No.

He wouldn’t acknowledge it. Wouldn’t even allow himself to think the words. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t that. Not when everything he felt that way about was ripped away from him. She’d be safer if he kept that feeling far from her.

Suddenly, Sandor was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of Brienne’s voice as she pointed out a place that looked as though it would make a suitable stop for the night. At her suggestion, Pod, Arya, and Sansa were sent in to clear out any bandits or zombies, rather than the two of them. Just the idea of it put Sandor on edge even after she’d reassured him that they would be just outside if anything were to happen. “Besides, what are we training them for if we don’t let them put it to good use?” Brienne had added with an arched eyebrow.

He could only grumble his agreement and watch with his stomach in knots as the three of them disappeared through the door of the house. As he waited anxiously for their return, he fought to find something, anything to distract himself with. Sandor’s eyes darted around until they landed on his boots, one of which had come slightly undone. As he leaned down to lace it back up, the necklace he’d scavenged for Sansa slipped out of his pocket and fell into the grass. “Shit” he cursed softly reaching for it quickly.

“What in the name of the Seven is that?” Brienne exclaimed, leaning down and grabbing it before he could.

“Nothing!” Sandor growled, straightening up and snatching the trinket out of her hand, shoving it safely back into his pocket.

A sly grin formed on Brienne’s face as the gears in her mind started to turn. “Well well, Clegane, I never took you for the jewelry type. It’s quite nice though.”

Sandor scowled at her, feeling as though whatever peace between them was about to come to an end as he bit out, “It’s not for me!”

“Oh? If it’s not for you then who is it for?” Brienne asked him, her grin widening.

“Nobody. Just mind your own fucking business,” Sandor said, turning his steely gaze to the house, hoping his surliness would put an end to the conversation.

“Well, I for one quite like it. If it’s not for anyone in particular, then you certainly wouldn’t mind giving it to me,” Brienne said, reaching for his pocket.

Sandor dodged her, grabbing her wrist before she could get close. He expected her to be furious with him, but she only looked amused as he released her. With a sigh, he relented, saying, “Fine. It’s a gift, all right? Can we just leave it at that?”

“Fine,” Brienne said with a satisfied smirk, adding softly after a moment, “I’m sure she’ll love it Sandor. It’s a perfect match for her eyes.”

Before he could say anything in response, Pod, Arya, and Sansa reappeared in the door frame, each smiling and waving them over. Brienne started towards them first, asking, “Did you find anything?”

“There was a zombie and Sansa took it down like a total badass!” Arya crowed excitedly, looking proudly at her sister.

“It wasn’t as cool as Arya is making it out to be,” Sansa said modestly, a slight flush to her cheeks.

“Don’t be silly, Sansa” Pod said, clapping her on the shoulder, “You did great!”

She only laughed nervously, her eyes darting over to Sandor. He gave her a reassuring smile and said, “Looks like those lessons are finally paying off, eh, little bird?”

“Only because I have such a good teacher,” Sansa replied, the look on her face radiant. She was truly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on, and he couldn’t believe his luck that somehow she’d found her way into his life.

After a beat, he realized that everyone was watching them, their stares curious. and with that, the moment was over. Sandor cleared his throat and headed inside, deciding to take a look at the place for himself and help haul out the loan corpse that Sansa had killed. He snuck a look at Brienne who’s satisfied expression had only intensified, the moment between him and Sansa out front seeming to have confirmed her suspicions. He could only sigh and shake his head, wondering how much of a pain in the ass the blonde giantess was going to be about it. She certainly loved to stick her nose in other people’s business, and he guessed it was only a matter of time before she started pestering him about it.

Rather than wait to find out and risk her spilling the beans about his gift, Sandor decided to give Sansa the necklace tonight. After all, they’d had a run of good fortune, so that would make his feelings behind the gift less transparent, right? He could only hope.

Doing his best to be quiet, Sandor rifled around the house, looking for things that would make the night special. It felt a little ridiculous, but she deserved the best, and he wanted to show her what she meant to him in some small way. As he dug through boxes on the upper level of the home, he eventually stumbled across some half-used candles. There was also stereo he found that still had working batteries. Several CDs had been left behind, too, most of which he couldn’t stand. One of them, however, was a mix CD labeled “love songs” which he was sure would have some music that would add to the ambiance.

Sandor stashed those items away in a special spot and went back downstairs to join the others. The night passed quickly, and eventually he and Sansa turned in. He did his best to sleep lightly, wanting to wake before her so that he could set up the living room with the few things he’d found.

When he rolled out of his sleeping bag, he was still groggy, but pushed himself to fight through it. Eventually, he wandered out to where the others were, and caught the tail end of a story Brienne was telling.

“...And then I knocked him right on his ass! People tend to underestimate me because I’m a woman, but I showed the ‘Knight of the Flowers’ who was the real champion!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

“Why did they call him that again?” Pod asked.

“He liked to hand out roses to women in the crowd just before his match, and they fancied him some kind of gallant hero I suppose. It was a silly nickname, but it stuck,” Brienne explained.

They all turned to look at him as he entered the room, Arya saying, “What are you doing up, Hound?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said gruffly, adding, “Figured I’d offer to let you guys have an early night if you want it.”

The group shared a look and he wondered if they suspected that he’d use the time alone to drink. Though they’d forgiven him a while ago, it seemed old suspicions died hard. Arya and Pod looked to Brienne for an answer, and after a moment she finally said, “That sounds lovely. I think we’ll actually take you up on that offer, if that’s okay.”

“Gods yes! I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks!” Arya said, jumping up from the couch and grabbing Pod by the hand. They disappeared quickly up the stairs, with Brienne following after, a knowing smile on her face.

As soon as he was sure they were sleeping, Sandor got to work setting everything up. He put the candles out strategically so they would give the room a soft glow. They were also scented, pleasantly so, and that helped cover up the dusty smell of the house. He placed the small stereo on an end table and inserted the mix CD inside so that he could play it when he was ready.

Soon, it was time for their turn to watch, and Sandor crept to the room she’d taken up residence in, shaking her awake.

She smiled up at him from her bed, saying, “Is it that time already? I was having the best dream...”

“Yes, little bird, it’s time,” Sandor told her, adding, “Unless you want another five minutes. I could let you sleep a little more.” Gods she was making him soft. He could remember a time where he’d have dragged her out of bed even if she’d begged him for just one more minute.

“No, I’m awake,” Sansa sighed, sitting up and combing her fingers through her unkempt hair, “I’ll be down soon.”

As Sandor paced anxiously in the living room, his heart started to hammer in his chest, his nerves suddenly overtaking him. Would she even like the candles or the music? Or would just laugh it off, thinking him a fool for believing she’d ever be interested in him?

Before he could spiral too far down the rabbit hole, Sansa appeared, and gasped softly asking, “Sandor? What’s all this?”

What could he say to explain himself? Nothing that wouldn’t give away his feelings. Eventually, he settled on saying, “I thought we could celebrate all the good luck we’ve had lately, so I found this stuff to make it a little nicer in here. I hope you don’t mind.” It was lame, but it was the best explanation he could come up with.

“Well, it looks lovely,” she said, entering the living room and looking around at everything. He could almost swear she was blushing, but before he could get a good look she leaned down to smell one of the candles, and sighed contentedly, saying, “It smells just like the lemon cakes I’d have on my nameday.”

Sandor watched her, absolutely in awe of her beauty in the soft light. The flames glinted off her hair, making it shine a brilliant copper, and he longed to run his fingers through it. In truth, he longed to do much more than that, desire filling him as he continued to stare. He shook his head, telling himself to snap out of it and stop acting like a teenage boy.

At that moment, Sansa found the stereo. “Does this still work?” she asked excitedly, pressing the buttons. The mix CD he’d put in there started playing, and she squealed in delight, saying, “I haven’t listened to music in so long! Sandor, can you believe it?”

“No, little bird, I can’t,” he said with a chuckle, choosing to play coy.

The song that came on was a slow one, with the twanging sound of guitars and a steady drum beat. The voice that crooned was filled with lament, joining the instruments soon after. Before Sandor could stop himself, he held out a hand to Sansa, asking, “Do you want to dance?”

She looked a little taken aback by his suggestion and asked hesitantly, “Shouldn’t we be keeping watch? It wouldn’t be responsible to shirk our duties.”

Sandor shrugged and said softly, “One dance won’t hurt.”

Now that he was closer to her, he could see that she was definitely blushing. It seemed more often than not, she was always a little bit flushed around him. He wanted to believe that that was a sign she was attracted to him, but the logical part of his brain wouldn’t allow him to believe it. She was a beautiful young woman, and an old scarred up dog like him would never be appealing to her, no matter how few men were available for her to choose from.

Sandor held his breath as he waited for her to accept his proposal, and the more she hesitated, the more embarrassed he got. However, before he could pull his hand away, she reached out and took it, surprising him. Sansa’s other hand found its way to his shoulder, as she brought her body close to his.

Cautiously, he put his hand on her waist, and soon they were moving in slow circles around the room. Sandor’s heart thundered in his chest, and he wondered if she could feel it with how close she was to him. A part of him hoped she could, especially when she finally pressed her body up against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. He was unable to help the sigh that escaped him, as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close while they continued to sway.

There likely wouldn’t be a better moment than this, so, with his heart in his throat, Sandor quietly said, “Sansa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's curious, the song I was imagining during the last scene was 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room' by John Mayer. Of course anyone is free to imagine whatever song playing that they want to, but that was the one that was in my head when I was writing!
> 
> I'm really glad I managed to get in some time to finish this chapter, because it gave me all the feelings! Now we just have to wait and see if Sandor will be brave enough to tell Sansa how much he cares about her!


	16. Chapter 16

Once again while wrapped up in his arms, Sansa felt safe and at peace as the music playing softly from the stereo washed over them. His strong body held her in place, the muscles of his shoulders relaxed under her hands. The broad expanse of his chest felt like home as her eyes drifted shut while they swayed in time with the rhythm of the song. It was almost as though her body had been made for his, the way they fit so perfectly together. Despite the fact that she knew she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, Sansa couldn’t help but indulge herself a little.

The romantic nature of the evening wasn’t lost on her. Between the candles and the music—and the fact that he’d asked her to dance and the way his heart was pounding under her ear—she could almost believe that he had something more intended for them. The thought both thrilled and unnerved her. She’d resolved many weeks ago that nothing more could happen between them than friendship. Even though he’d seemingly embraced sobriety again, who knew when he’d have another slip up that could cost them their lives? It was obvious he needed to work on his own issues, rather than striking up a relationship with her that could distract him.

Yet still, after all this time spent together getting to know one another, Sansa had felt her resolve seriously wavering. Underneath the gruff, unpleasant exterior, was a man who cared deeply for the people he chose to let in. She could see it in the way he always made sure Arya was safe, and in the way he always put himself between the group and danger. She could also see it in the way he looked at her sometimes, a long, heavy stare that sent a shiver up her spine. There was such complexity in the depths of his dark gray eyes, and she often wondered what he was thinking when he watched her that way.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sandor’s voice, her name a question on his lips. As her eyes fluttered open, Sansa pulled back and looked up at him, asking, “What is it, Sandor?”

He was looking at her that way again, and she felt an immediate shift in the air as her body started to tingle with anticipation. His hands suddenly seemed very heavy against her back as she realized just how intimate she’d allowed their bodies to become. Though her first instinct was to move away, Sansa felt frozen in place as Sandor’s eyes were locked on hers. She held her breath as she waited for him to say something, but he only continued to watch her. For a moment, she thought he meant to kiss her with the way his gaze eventually drifted down to her lips, but then he stepped back. His fingertips slid over her elbows and down to her hands, clasping them in his own.

Sandor still hadn’t said anything, and she was starting to wonder if he ever would, when he finally cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the floor as he murmured, “I just wanted to say how nice it’s been getting to know you. I mean, the real you, underneath all the forced manners and civility. You’re so much more than I ever imagined you’d be, and I feel like such an ass for not being able to see it right away. And for being a dick to you in the beginning. You never deserved it, and I shouldn’t have acted like that. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Oh Sandor, you really don’t have to—,” Sansa began, but was cut off.

Sandor’s eyes snapped up to meet hers as he said, “But I do. At the time I thought you were just some airheaded damsel in distress waiting for her knight in shining armor. Just another mouth to feed who’d freeload off of us until she could find something better. Now I know how wrong I was,” he paused then, his hands slipping from hers as he reached into his pocket and fished something out, “I just really wanted to show you how much you’ve come to mean to me, little bird. I know you deserve more than I’ll ever be able to give you, but I hope this at least lets you know how special you are. How special you’ve become to me.”

Sandor finally opened his fist, and resting inside was a beautiful pendant made of a shining silver material. Even in the candlelight, it shone beautifully, especially the heart shaped jewel that hung off the chain. The deep sapphire color was only made more lovely in the low light. It completely took Sansa’s breath away, and for a moment, she was speechless.

Her hesitation was enough to shake Sandor’s confidence, it seemed, as he said with a defeated voice, “You don’t like it, do you? Shit, I’m sorry. I really don’t know anything about jewelry.”

“No! No, Sandor, it’s beautiful,” Sansa rushed to explain, adding, “I’m just surprised. I don’t even know where you would have found something like that out here.”

He smiled sheepishly at her, saying, “There was a jewelry store and I might have done a little shopping. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I could do with circumstances being what they are.”

Sansa’s heart swelled with emotion as she realized just how much effort he’d gone to so that he could show her he cared for her. She felt tears at the corners of her eyes as she said softly, “Oh Sandor, it’s more than enough.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, little bird,” Sandor said, shaking his head.

“I’m not lying. It’s truly one of the nicest things anyone has ever given me. I can’t tell you what it means to me, Sandor,” Sansa said, staring deeply into his eyes, her hand pressing against his chest.

Something seemed to shift in him when she touched him, his eyes darkening as he matched her gaze. He gestured with the necklace and asked, “May I?”

Sansa bit her lip, and then nodded, pulling her hair out of the way so that he could wrap the delicate, silver chain around her neck and clasp it together. As he did, his fingers brushed against her skin softly, and suddenly she was hot all over, imagining where else his hands might go.

When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at where the heart hung against her chest. The metal was still warm from his touch, and without thinking, she asked him, “How does it look?” Though the question itself was innocent enough, Sansa couldn’t help but feel there was a hint of suggestion behind it, as a new tension filled the air around them.

Her face flushed as he appraised her, his eyes lingering on where the pendant sat against her breast bone, before they lifted to her face. Sandor moved closer to her, his gaze never wavering as he said softly, “It looks beautiful. You look beautiful. Sometimes I think you don’t know just how stunning you are, Sansa.”

She didn’t know if it was the way he’d said her name, or how he’d licked his lips as he stared down at her, but any doubts she’d had about his intentions evaporated in that instant. It was clear that something romantic was going to happen between them, bad idea or no. Sansa’s lips parted slightly, as she willed herself to move from the spot she was standing in, or to turn away. Something, anything to get her out of this situation. Unfortunately for her, the rational part of her brain seemed to have departed, leaving only the emotional part behind. And that was the part that was completely and devastatingly attracted to Sandor.

Instead of stepping away and politely excusing herself from something that she knew would only be trouble, Sansa’s body seemed to take on a life of its own as she closed the gap between them. Without thinking, she reached up, cupping his face in her hands, and stood on her tip toes so that she could press a chaste kiss against his lips. She noticed distantly that the scar tissue on his left side of his face felt smoother than she expected, though it still rippled under her fingertips.

Time seemed to stand still as Sandor’s body was rigid against hers, and for a moment she worried she’d misread him. However, her concerns were alleviated as his powerful arms crushed her to his chest, lifting her off the floor as he kissed her back. His mouth was hard against hers, like he’d been waiting all his life to do this, and a small thrill raced up Sansa’s spine as she parted her lips.

He took the cue and soon their tongues were curling together as Sansa finally got to experience what it was like to be kissed by a real man. And what it was like to be kissed by a man who cared for her. It was obvious in the way that he held her like he never wanted to let her go that this was much more than just something physical for him. And, even though she didn’t want to admit it, it was definitely more than physical for her, too.

Her heart started to race as the intensity of their kisses grew more passionate and desperate. Sandor’s hands roamed over her body, seeming to want to take in every inch of her. A groan escaped her as he explored her curves, her fingers tangling in his long hair. There was a warmth that had pooled between her legs, and she felt reason giving way even further to her more primal desires as he led them both over to the couch. It was only when her calves bumped against the furniture and Sandor’s fingers were sliding under the hem of her shirt that she realized how far things would go if she didn’t put a stop to it.

With more reluctance than Sansa wanted to admit on her part, she broke their kiss and took a moment to catch her breath.

To his credit, Sandor was immediately concerned, his hands grasping her shoulders as he said, “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I was being too pushy. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

As she looked back up into his face, she was struck by the raw emotion she saw staring back at her. If she wasn’t mistaken, she could almost swear he was looking at her as though he loved her. The very thought both unnerved and thrilled her, and she knew now that they were in much deeper than she’d allowed herself to realize. Sansa kicked herself for not seeing it sooner, and wished she hadn’t let it go so far. Not when she’d decided long ago that nothing could happen between them.

“Sansa?” Sandor asked her again, his brows coming together, as his grip on her shoulders tightened.

She could no longer meet his gaze and instead dropped her eyes guiltily, her voice quavering as she said, “Sandor, I really don’t know what to say...”

That was all it took to break the spell, the mood in the room shifting instantly as he let go of her and stepped back. “You don’t have to say anything at all. I get it. I was a fool to think a girl like you would want anything to do with an ugly asshole like me anyway.” His voice was cold, all the warmth of earlier having been sucked out.

“Sandor, please, don’t think it has anything to do with your scars,” Sansa said sadly, finally looking at him again. His expression had totally changed, a mask of cold indifference and resignation now there where he’d looked open and in love only moments ago.

“If it’s not my face then what is it, litt—Sansa?” Sandor asked her, a hard edge in his voice now. It stung that he avoided calling her the nickname he’d come up with for her.

Sansa sighed, struggling to find the right words to convey her feelings. She wanted to be honest with him, but she also felt like she should be sensitive to his drinking problem. Knowing she couldn’t be silent forever, she eventually started to speak, “Look, I don’t know much about alcoholism, but what I do know is that you need to work on your issues without any distractions. And I think I would just be a distraction for you. Maybe another way to numb whatever pain you were using alcohol to deal with. I think it would be best for you if we didn’t pursue something romantically.”

Sandor was silent for a few seconds, before his face twisted in anger as he spit out, “Are you fucking kidding me? Of all the patronizing bullshit I’ve ever heard, that one takes the cake. I can’t believe you think you know what’s best for me and my ‘issues.’” The last word he said with air quotes, a sneer on his face. “I haven’t had a drop in over a month! Do you honestly think I still can’t control myself?”

“Sandor, please, don’t be angry,” Sansa begged, not wanting this to be anymore painful than it already was as she side-stepped his question, “I really want us to be friends. You mean so much to me and I don’t want to lose you.” Tears had formed in her eyes and were threatening to spill down her face any moment.

He shook his head bitterly, as he averted his gaze, saying, “I can’t just be your friend, Sansa. Hells, I can barely even look at you right now. This has been the most humiliating night of my life.” Sandor turned to leave, his steps heavy on the wooden floor.

“Please, Sandor, don’t leave things like this,” Sansa said, as the tears finally fell from her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. She reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him, only to have him rip it away from her as though he’d been burned.

“There’s nothing left to say. You’ve obviously made up your mind,” he said, his back still to her, “Just let me go, little bird.”

Sansa said nothing and stood rooted in place feeling utterly defeated. How could things have been so perfect one moment and turned so ugly the next? And how could he not see that she was right? Even if they were both in love with each other, couldn’t he see the barrier that stood between them in the form of his addiction and his demons?

Her thoughts were interrupted when he stopped, and for a hopeful second, she thought maybe they could salvage what was left of the night. Instead, Sandor turned to her, his face unreadable as he asked, “Why did you even kiss me if you knew you didn’t want to be with me?”

The words twisted in Sansa’s heart like a knife, and she felt as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. There was nothing she could say that would make this hurt less for both of them. Telling him how much she wanted to leap into his arms right now and take back her rejection wouldn’t help either of them. It would be best just to lie, and so she answered simply, “I don’t know.”

Sandor laughed bitterly and said, “Great answer. Just great.” And then he was gone, leaving Sansa to take watch alone. The romantic music which had underscored the entire night played behind her, a cruel reminder of what could have been.

Sansa slumped on the couch and cried for what felt like hours, until the first rays of sunrise started to make their way through the curtains. At that point, she did her best to pull herself together, scrubbing the tears away so hard that it stung. She also blew the candles out, turned off the stereo, and hid the pendant in her shirt so that no one would suspect anything had transpired other than another boring night keeping watch. All she had to do now was act natural and come up with a convincing excuse for why Sandor wasn’t with her.

Or so she thought. There was creaking on the stairs and moments later he appeared at the bottom. For a second, she thought he wanted to patch things up, but instead, he ignored her and made his way to the kitchen. Apparently he was aware enough that appearances needed to be kept up, but couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as her. That fact coupled with his blatant disregard only made her heartache increase tenfold and renewed her tears, leaving her crying on the couch once again.

It was when she heard the movement upstairs of the others that she did what she could to compose herself. The last thing she needed was Arya or Brienne asking what was wrong. The former would likely try to fight Sandor on her behalf, and the latter would probably just kick him out of the group after she completely misunderstood the situation. It would simply be best if they just pretended nothing had ever happened for now.

Still, even with both of them doing their best to act as though things were normal, a new tension had settled over all of them as they traveled in silence. It was so awkward, in fact, that Arya pulled Sansa aside when they had stopped for a quick rest and asked, “Is everything all right? You and the Hound haven’t said anything to each other all day.”

“Haven’t we? I hadn’t noticed,” Sansa replied, feigning ignorance. Although she hated lying to her sister, she still didn’t feel ready to talk about things yet.

Arya’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Sansa shot back a little too quickly, then tried to recover, “Everything’s fine, I promise. We’re both just tired. The nights really do get long after a while.”

“I know what you mean. We should talk to Brienne about breaking up the rotation,” Arya said, adding thoughtfully, “Unless you think the Hound shouldn’t be on his own yet.” Sansa could hear the unspoken question and didn’t know how to answer.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. We only talked a little about his drinking problem,” Sansa said quietly. Truth be told, it would probably be easier for both of them if they were to take watch individually.

“I guess we’ll never know until we give it a shot,” Arya said with a shrug. She could tell her sister was conflicted, wanting to believe her friend was better. But addiction was a complex thing, and it was hard to say if he really would be able to avoid giving in to temptation.

Before they could say anymore on the subject, they were interrupted by Brienne, who said they should continue on.

Eventually, they settled to make camp for the night. When they did, Sansa finally remembered the tent situation and cringed internally. With the way things had been going, she had no doubt in her mind that Arya, Pod, and Brienne would wind up sharing one tent, and she and Sandor would automatically be paired together to share the other. Her face flushed at the thought of being in such close proximity with him, and she almost wondered if it would be better for her to sleep on the ground instead.

Sure enough, Brienne smiled at them all and said, “Shall we just share tents based on who shares watch?”

“No!” Sandor said emphatically from where he was setting up one of the tents, looking just as surprised at his outburst as everyone else was.

Sansa chanced a glance at Arya and found her looking between the two of them, her expression clearly suspicious. Brienne, too, looked a little wary, as she tilted her head to the side and said, “Why not?”

His mouth had fallen open slightly, and she could tell from the way his eyes darted around nervously that he was trying to come up with a reason why he wouldn’t want to be in the same tent as her. Without thinking, Sansa blurted out, “You were just joking, right? That was a pretty lame attempt at sarcasm, Sandor.” She added a little giggle to make it seem more real and watched as everyone visibly relaxed.

Arya laughed, too, and slapped him on the shoulder, saying, “Humor was never your strong suit, Hound. Stick to your day job. Or, I guess, night job.”

Sandor just chuckled weakly and went back to putting up the tent that they were now doomed to share. Judging by the tension in his shoulders, she could tell he was still doing his best to find a way out of the situation. She herself dreaded what was to come for the rest of the evening, and when it was finally time for them to turn in, Sansa could feel a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

Though the tent was meant for three people, Sandor easily took up the space of two with his height and musculature, so it was a very tight fit. He seemed to have done his best to put as much space between them as possible as he curled up against the wall of the tent opposite her. Still, Sansa could feel the heat radiating off of his back, and she longed to reach out and run her fingers along his shoulder blades. In truth, she longed to do much more than that, but she knew it wasn’t meant to be.

When she could no longer stand it, she finally said softly, “Sandor?” Even if they couldn’t be together, she still wanted things to be normal between them. Or at least as normal as they could be.

At first, she thought he might be asleep, or even ignoring her, but then he said sharply, “What?” He kept his back to her, the distance between them feeling even wider now that it was evident he was still angry with her.

“We need to talk,” Sansa began, intending to try and mend their relationship.

“Nothing to talk about,” Sandor said, cutting her off.

“So that’s it, then? We’re just going to pretend last night and the last few weeks never happened? How can you do that?” Sansa asked incredulously. Maybe she was being selfish, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him go, even though he’d asked her to.

Sandor didn’t say anything for a long time. She wondered if he was going to answer her, and when she was about to tell him to forget it, he sighed and said heavily, “Look, Sansa, I can’t do this right now. If you want to talk, then we can tonight when we’re on watch. But right now I just want to sleep. So just let me, all right?”

“Fine,” Sansa answered, her heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vise. She wished she could go back in time and change everything. She would stop past Sansa from kissing Sandor and starting this whole mess.

Still, perhaps tonight she’d be able to make amends and make him see that this was for the best. She could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't I ever just let them be happy? Why do I love angst so much? Believe me when I say that writing this chapter was just as painful as I'm sure it was for you guys to read it. I actually had to take breaks to stop myself from getting too emotional. I hope it was still enjoyable to read, even with the less than favorable ending to the chapter.
> 
> I just want to say as a little aside, that addiction is really a beast of a thing. Even though Sandor feels like he's over it, it's kind of like a sleeping dragon, always waiting to rear its ugly head. And Sansa is right in assuming that a relationship would serve as a distraction for him from the demons he doesn't want to face. There's still a lot of anger and a lot of sadness that Sandor's been able to ignore because he's had Sansa as something to focus on. Not to say his feelings for her aren't real, of course. They are. But there's still more work and more healing he needs to do for himself before he can really be a good partner to her.
> 
> Also, sorry to all for the late update. I meant to have this chapter done and edited last night but you know how it goes. Still, better late than never, right?


	17. Chapter 17

Sandor kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he did his best to make himself as small as possible. The tent was a tight squeeze and he didn’t want a single part of him brushing against a single part of her. Especially not after she’d tried to talk to him. He’d spent the whole day avoiding her, and thought he’d get a break from her tonight, only to find himself trapped inside a confined space with her. It had been mortifying when he’d tried to get out of it this afternoon and she’d had to cover for him, effectively forcing them into this situation. And now she was already trying to reconcile with him when she’d pushed him away in the most insulting way possible.

He didn’t know what had compelled him to say they could talk tonight when he’d had every intention of avoiding her for eternity. In fact, he’d planned on spending the night canvassing the area, looking for who knew what out in the wilderness, just to get some distance from everything. And yet, like the fucking lovesick—no, starstruck, smitten, besotted, anything but ‘love’—fool that he was, he’d let her bully him into a conversation he simply didn’t have any words for.

What was there to talk about anyway? She’d made herself perfectly clear to him yesterday with her little subterfuge. After his initial reaction to her rejection, he’d taken some time to think about what she’d said and concluded that she was lying to cover up the fact that she just didn’t feel the same way about him. He didn’t blame her for not having feelings for him. Sansa wasn’t obligated to be interested in him, and he knew that. He would have accepted that easily and moved on, but then she’d made a move on him. The only reason he could come up with for why Sansa had kissed him was that she’d pitied him, a fact which made the heat of humiliation burn through him. Sandor could only imagine what she’d been thinking when he’d been pawing her up like some animal. She’d probably been disgusted by his hands on her and the way his scars felt against her mouth. It made sense that she’d backpedaled when she realized he’d wanted more. Of course, such a polite girl couldn’t possibly tell him the truth as it would be just plain rude, so she’d made something up about his alcoholism to take the edge off.

If there was one thing Sandor hated, it was a liar.

Not that he could ever hate her. Even now, he found himself wanting to forgive her in spite of how much he detested being lied to. However, the stubborn part of him wasn’t going to let it go. It would be easier to get some distance from his feelings that way, since it seemed he wouldn’t be able to put any physical distance between them.

With all these thoughts racing around his head, Sandor found it hard to fall asleep. He did his best to clear his mind, and, without meaning to, he started to focus on the soft sound of her breathing behind him, indicating that Sansa had finally gotten to sleep herself. It was almost comforting in a way, until he reminded himself that the sound wasn’t his to be comforted by. Nothing about her belonged to him. She’d made that perfectly clear last night as well.

He knew what _would_ help him fall asleep, and that was alcohol. His tongue felt heavy with want, and he’d never felt the need for even just a drop more strongly than he did right now. He’d even kill for a taste, if it would let him quiet his mind and numb his feelings. However, they were in the middle of nowhere, the least likely place he’d find something to satisfy his thirst. Instead, he settled on focusing only on the blackness behind his eyelids.

Eventually, he drifted off for what felt like an instant, until he heard the sound of Brienne’s voice just outside their tent, waking them for watch. He held his breath, waiting until he heard enough rustling sounds to indicate that Sansa had left the tent, before rolling over and staring at the ceiling for a long minute. How was he going to get through this night?

Sandor knew he couldn’t lie there forever and forced himself to get up, emerging from the tent into the darkness of the night, with only the light of the fire to illuminate the camp. He was stopped short when he saw Brienne still standing there, her face practically unreadable in the darkness.

He raised a brow at her, until he realized she probably couldn’t see him either. Before he had a chance to ask her what she wanted out loud, she spoke hesitantly, “Clegane, is everything all right?”

Sandor couldn’t help but be taken aback by her concern. This was perhaps the first time she’d ever worried about him, and he almost didn’t know what to say. Instead of being touched, he found himself inclined to irritation at her nosiness, asking gruffly, “Why?”

Brienne cleared her throat uncomfortably, pausing for another moment, eventually saying, “I couldn’t help but notice that you and Sansa were unusually distant from each other and I was just wondering...”

She trailed off, her unspoken question ringing all too loudly in Sandor’s ears. He groaned out loud, having forgotten that she’d seen the necklace and had probably figured out his intentions. Gritting his teeth, he did his best not to snap at her as he said, “It’s fine. Just mind your godsdamned business, would you?”

If she was upset by his harsh words, she didn’t show it. Instead, she patted his shoulder, another uncharacteristic action, and said, “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

Then Brienne was gone, and he was alone again. As always.

At this point, Sandor knew it was now or never. He’d have to get it over with eventually. Sighing heavily, he trudged towards the campsite where he could see Sansa sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her delicate brows were furrowed and he could tell even from here that she was troubled by what was to come. Still, even with the dark emotions marring her expression, she was beautiful. More beautiful than anyone he’d ever known.

He should have known better than to think he’d ever be someone she could want.

Just looking at her made him hesitate, stopping him cold, and he contemplated how easy it would be to walk away. She still hadn’t noticed him yet. It would be as simple as turning in the opposite direction and not stopping until he couldn’t walk anymore.

But then her eyes flicked up and met his, and in that instant he knew there was nowhere he could go that would let him escape her. Sansa was inside of him now, like a disease, and no matter how far he ran, she—and the things he felt for her—would always be there with him.

Sandor walked the last few steps to the fire and sat down adjacent to her. Sansa seemed to wait until he was fully settled in before she would say anything. He expected some grand speech about how it wasn’t him, it was her, and he shouldn’t feel bad, blah blah fucking blah. At least if she said that, she’d be owning up to how she felt—or didn’t feel—rather than pretending his drinking problem—which wasn’t even a problem anymore—was the real issue. Then he’d be able to let it go, they could move on, and maybe even be friends again in a couple weeks. You know, when he’d finally gotten over his embarrassment.

However, she was silent, staring at him expectantly. It was odd, especially since she was the one who’d wanted to talk, and he was unsure of what to do. The only thing Sandor knew for sure was that he was _not_ going to be the first person to speak. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared right back at her, knowing that she’d break within a couple of minutes of being subjected to his steely glare.

Sure enough, it took no time at all, and Sansa flushed, clearing her throat uncomfortably and saying, “Well?”

“Well what?” Sandor asked sharply in reply, still confused as to what she thought he wanted to say. Why wouldn’t she just get on with it?

She hesitated, her lower lip trembling slightly, and he could feel the walls he’d put up around himself crumbling. Eventually, her eyes darted away from his and into the fire, sadness overtaking her features as she said, “Sorry, I guess I just thought you’d want to let me have it, so I was trying to give you a chance to let it all out.”

At that, Sandor softened even more, realizing she was probably expecting the worst from him. And why shouldn’t she? Thinking back on their first interactions, it was no wonder Sansa was expecting him to lay into her. He pushed back the wave of guilt he felt at being such an ass to her in the beginning and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

“Honestly, Sansa, I don’t really have anything to say. At least, not until you tell the truth,” Sandor said, not wanting to dance around the lie she’d told at all. Better to be direct and put everything out in the open so they could talk things through like adults.

Her brows knit together in confusion and she cocked her head to the side, asking, “What do you mean, ‘the truth?’”

Gods she could be convincing when she wanted to be. Sandor wanted to be surprised, having thought her to be guileless at one point, but she was raised in a rich family. Of course she was able to lie well. “Don’t play dumb with me. I think we’ve gotten past that by now,” Sandor barked, wincing internally as she grimaced, adding in a more even tone, “You don’t have to pretend that my ‘drinking problem’ is the reason you don’t want to be with me. Just be honest. I’m not the kind of man you’re attracted to. As soon as you admit to that, we can move on and pretend none of it ever happened.”

Sansa’s face morphed from confused to outraged as he spoke, and when he finally finished, it was her turn to take a tone with him, saying, “I can’t believe you would think something like that about me! Do you really believe I would lie to you after all we’ve been through?”

“Why else would you let something that isn’t even a big deal anymore stand in the way of being with someone you actually wanted to be with? It’s the end of the fucking world, Sansa! Do you really expect me to believe that my ‘alcoholism’ is the issue here? Get real. Just admit that it’s my scars already!” Sandor half-shouted, shaking his head at her in disbelief.

Sansa sat up to her full height, her blue eyes flashing angrily as she said, “You may find this hard to swallow, but not everything comes back to your scars! Your drinking problem—and it is a problem, whether you want to believe it or not—isn’t something I, or anyone else is going to take lightly. Apparently, the only person who doesn’t take it seriously is you, which tells me that I was right. Sandor, you’re an alcoholic and you’ll always have a problem with alcohol, no matter what. Until you can acknowledge that, you’ll never be in control of it.”

“Oh, so you’re the expert now, huh? Been doing a bit of research in your spare time?” Sandor asked snidely, still unable to believe that she was hiding behind some bullshit in order to make him feel better. Although, if he thought about it, her words hadn’t actually made him feel better. In fact, they’d made him feel worse than he had all night.

“Stop deflecting, and be honest with me. Since we...since I...since last night, have you thought about drinking?” Sansa’s deep blue eyes pierced into his, and he found himself speechless, knowing that he had. He couldn’t admit it out loud, and so he was silent, and her eyes softened with sadness. “See? You’re not over it. Maybe you’ll never be over it. But the minute you thought...the minute I wasn’t a distraction for you, you wanted to drink.”

“So what? It’s a normal reaction to having your heart broken, isn’t it?!” Sandor exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really had my heart broken. But after I watched my father die, I didn’t want to drink, and that was the most devastating moment of my life. So, I don’t think it is normal,” Sansa said quietly, her gaze dropping to her hands which were folded in her lap.

“I don’t need this shit. You don’t know anymore about my problems than I do, but you sit here and spout some bullshit like you’re a fucking doctor. If you don’t want to tell me the truth, then don’t. But don’t expect me to sit here and listen to you trying to diagnose me when you don’t know a goddsdamned thing,” Sandor said, getting up and dusting himself off, “I’m going to be patrolling on the edge of camp. Don’t follow me.”

And with that, he left. A part of him hoped she would follow him, if nothing else, to show him she still cared about him on some level. But the further he got, the more that part shriveled until it had died and he knew that things were truly over. Just as well. Sandor didn’t want to be with a woman who’d lie to him anyway.

He walked and walked until the fire was just a small speck, and the he stopped. It was pitch black in the forest, and the last thing he needed was to lose sight of camp and get lost. Not when he had the wolf-bitch to think about. At least one of the Stark girls was honest and loyal. Even if things had gone to every one of the seven hells with Sansa, he would stay in the group for Arya’s sake.

Still, Sandor wasn’t going to just stand here all night like some fucking moron. He decided to do what he’d said he was going to, and started walking the perimeter of the camp, ensuring the small speck was always in view. That is, until he ran face first into some kind of structure that he hadn’t been able to see in the darkness. He stumbled backwards, and put his hands out to inspect what exactly had stopped him in his tracks.

It was something wood, if the rough surface under his fingertips was any indication. It didn’t feel like more trees, however. No, it was something man-made, something structural. He continued to feel his way around until he came to what he believed to be a door, its handle just a crude rope. If Sandor didn’t know any better, he believed he’d found some kind of shack.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his flashlight, which he reserved for use in emergency situations only. Since he had nothing better to do patrolling out here in the woods, he decided it would be worth it to search this little shanty, if only to see whether or not usable supplies were contained within.

As soon as Sandor clicked it on, the bright beam cut through the darkness of the woods and revealed that he had indeed found a crudely constructed building nestled between the trees. It looked old, as though it barely had legs left to stand on, but miraculously it was still upright. There was a single door, and one window which he could use to peer through to see if there were any beings inside, living or dead. Although, he had a feeling there wasn’t anything contained within, as he imagined his colliding with the shack would have alerted whoever might have been inside.

However, as soon as he shone the beam through the window, he could see a large muscle rack toppled over, and the upper half of a torso sticking out of it. There was shattered glass littered on the floor, surrounding the person who was face down on the ground. Sandor didn’t know if the incident had happened recently, and decided it was no longer worth it to inspect the contents of the shack. But as he tried to turn away, the voices of Brienne, Arya, Pod, and most annoyingly, Sansa, filled his mind, telling him that he couldn’t just leave this person to die if they were still alive. So, with a resigned sigh, he turned back and cautiously opened the door.

As soon as it scraped open, the telltale moan of a zombie filled the air, and the creature trapped under the shelves sprung to life, clawing at the floor in front of it as it raised its head to look at Sandor. He could tell from the emaciated state of the corpse that it had probably been too weak to lift the heavy, steel racks off of its body, and so had died there, either from starvation or dehydration. Maybe a combination of both. Its teeth gnashed as its milky eyes finally fixated on him, and with that, he knew what must be done. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he brought a swift end to the sad creature’s existence, thinking vaguely that he hoped it might finally have found some peace.

Now that that was taken care of, he took his chance to look around, and as he did so, he finally realized what all the glass was all over the floor. On the wall opposite him, sat another muscle rack, and what appeared to be at least fifty unopened jars that were all filled with a clear liquid. Based on the supplies sitting around him—cornmeal, sugar, yeast, and quite a few different pots, buckets, and tubes—Sandor could easily guess that they were jars of moonshine.

“Fuck me...” he murmured to himself, bemused that the gods had actually listened to him for once.

In that moment, it was like another force possessed him altogether, and he watched, almost as though outside of his body as his feet propelled him towards the shelf. The force controlling him reached his arm out, gripping his fingers around one of the jars filled with his salvation. It was only when he was about to unscrew the lid that he hesitated. Arya’s face flashed before Sandor’s eyes, specifically how she’d looked at him after he’d almost gotten them killed when he’d been drunk many weeks prior. It was almost enough to make him change his mind.

Almost.

Sansa’s face came next, her condescending, patronizing eyes telling him he always had a problem and always would if he didn’t come to terms with is ‘issues.’ Whatever the fuck that meant.

Well, Sandor would prove her wrong. He would open it up, take a quick sip or three, close it, and walk away without a problem.

And he did.

But not before he scooped up as many of the jars as he could carry and set them outside to take back to camp once he was done here.

Sandor made sure to keep the clanking of the glass to a minimum as he crept back to their campsite quietly. Once there, he snuck to his tent, pulled out his pack, and quickly stuffed the jars inside, wrapping each one in a t-shirt or underwear so they wouldn’t rattle together while he walked. Then, he tested the weight, and found that it was at least double what it had been before. Though he knew it would tire him out, it was a burden he was happy to carry if it meant he could finally get some release.

Unable to stop himself from smiling like the cat who got the cream, he sauntered back into camp, the buzz in his brain taking the edge off the pain and anger he felt when he saw Sansa again.

She looked up at him, puzzled, and asked, “What are you smiling about?”

Sandor only shook his head and settled back against a tree across from her, saying, “Not a fucking thing.” He folded his arms over his chest and stared off into the night, showing her that he no longer wanted to talk.

“Whatever,” Sansa said, obviously still frustrated with their earlier conversation.

Not that any of that mattered to Sandor now. He had what he needed, and that would probably get him through until they reached the Crossing. Then after that, who knew? Who cared? Right now, he didn’t give a damn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost I want to thank everyone so much for all the kind comments they left on the "chapter" that I posted explaining my situation. They were all so sweet, and I would have replied to each and every one, but I deleted that "chapter" because it felt weird to keep it around. That said, I appreciated it so much, and I am thankful to everyone who has been waiting for me to continue this story! It really motivated me to get going on it as soon as I was able to get my computer up and running. You guys are honestly just the greatest. :)
> 
> I finally have my computer built and have been hard at work writing up a few chapters to be able to post. I updated how many chapters there will be, because I managed to finalize the outline after all this time haha It should make writing chapters a little easier now that I know more or less what should happen in each one.
> 
> However, I won't be able to update on a regular schedule anymore. I recently got promoted at my job, which means I'm going to go from working 11 hour shifts to 14+ hour shifts. I will also be working more days in the week. It's a good thing, for the most part, the hours aside. But it's been exhausting and has left me with very little energy to write. I am committed to finishing this story, though, so don't worry, I won't abandon it. It will just take me a bit longer to finish it than I had anticipated. I have about four chapters ready to go (this one included), so for the next few weeks I'll try to be a busy beaver and get more done. But once everything I have currently finished is posted, I likely won't be sticking to a Friday upload schedule like I was before. I hope you can all understand and be patient as I do what I can to write this story and make sure the vision is exactly as I want it.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has stuck with my story and has read, commented, kudos'd and just generally enjoyed it. It means so much to me. :)


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning as everyone took down their tents and prepared for their departure, Brienne pulled him aside once more. At this point, the buzz had worn off, and Sandor had a headache and heartache which he couldn’t ignore. To say he had to grind his teeth down to nothing to keep himself from snapping at her was an understatement. Instead, he followed her, balling his hands into fists, knowing she was going to once again stick her nose where it didn’t belong.

Sure enough, as soon as she spun around, she wore the same uncomfortable, guilty look she had any other time she’d had to have a heart-to-heart with him. Brienne’s cheeks were flushed as she started, “I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but I couldn’t help but overhear yours and Sansa’s argument last night.”

Sandor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the only person left in Westeros who could meet him eye to eye. “So fucking what? You want me to apologize or something?” he asked her testily, steeling himself for her inevitable admonishment.

However, she surprised him when she gave him a scowl in return and said, “No. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right, and perhaps offer you a solution so that you two won’t have to spend as much time together.”

“What do you mean, ‘solution?’” he asked, unsure of what Brienne could be up to.

“Well, if your drinking is under control as you told Sansa it was last night, then I see no reason why we shouldn’t start a watch rotation. It’s clear to me that the chicks are ready to leave the nest, so to speak, and so to make things easier on both of you I’d be more than happy to set up individual watches.

At first, Sandor wanted to protest. Even with things the way they were between him and the little bird—no, Sansa, only Sansa now—he still wanted every precious moment he could get with her. But then, a light bulb came on in his mind, and he realized this was the perfect way to get some more alone time with the moonshine he’d found the night before. Sandor had spent most of the previous evening on watch ignoring Sansa and trying to figure out a way in which he could sneak drinks without her noticing. This way, he’d have most nights to himself, and he’d be able to enjoy it without being bothered. It was perfect.

Brienne must have taken his silence for hesitation, because after a moment she said, “We don’t have to if you think the two of you can patch things up—”

“No!” Sandor exclaimed, perhaps a little too quickly, adding afterwards, “No, I don’t think we can. It’s...over. Not that it ever really began in the first place.”

She nodded sympathetically, saying quietly, “I understand. I’ll make the announcement before we leave. Hopefully in time you’ll at least be able to be friends, but for now I think some distance is best.”

Sandor nodded, too, keeping his thoughts to himself. In truth, he wouldn’t hold his breath at the idea that he and Sansa would ever be anything more now than traveling companions. And even that moniker was generous. It didn’t matter if they spent night after night together, or never spoke again. Things wouldn’t change. The only distance he wanted now was a short one between him and the moonshine. That, he could handle just fine.

With that, the two of them made their way back to camp together, Brienne clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention. The rest of the group looked up from their tasks, each wearing a quizzical expression.

“Sandor and I have been talking, and we feel as though it’s time to start taking watch individually. You guys have come a long way in your training, and we trust you can take care of yourselves. Plus, with there being five of us, it’ll be easier for everyone to get a chance at a good night’s sleep once in a while. Is everyone all right with that?” Though she’d phrased the last part as a question, there was an air of authority to her voice that suggested it was more rhetorical than anything.

He could feel Sansa’s eyes hot on his body, burning holes through him, but Sandor refused to look in her direction. No doubt she thought it was his idea. Well, let her think that. It didn’t matter what she thought anymore. Instead, his eyes fell on Arya, who was also staring at him, her expression unreadable.

Eventually, Pod spoke up, saying, “It’s nice to know we’ve made such good progress in our training. I don’t mind taking watch on my own from now on. Do you, Arya?”

Her dark eyes finally slid away from him as she looked at Pod and answered, “I suppose not. I know I could take on any bandit or zombie that was stupid enough to wander its way into our camp.”

“Sansa? How do you feel about it?” Brienne asked, a slight undercurrent of nerves running through her voice.

Sandor knew her gaze never left him as she said, “It doesn’t matter to me. I can handle it.”

A pregnant silence followed, everyone shifting uncomfortably for a moment before Brienne announced with false cheeriness, “Excellent. So it’s settled then. I’ll draw up a schedule and have it ready by tonight.”

Everyone turned back to what they were doing, and Sandor stalked over to the tent he’d shared with Sansa. As soon as he started fiddling with the stakes, he heard footsteps crunching through the dried leaves on the ground, followed by her voice in a harsh whisper, saying, “So you can’t even stand to be around me now?”

Sandor kept his eyes on the tent stakes, and grunted, “Wasn’t my idea.”

“Oh really? Now who’s the liar?” Sansa asked him sharply.

“I am not a fucking liar,” he barked, finally turning to glare down at her, “It was Brienne’s idea.”

“Seems awfully convenient for you to be blaming her,” Sansa remarked, raising an eyebrow at him, “Besides, even if it was her idea, you clearly didn’t say no.”

“And why the fuck should I? If anyone can’t stand to be around someone, it’s you. Can’t you just appreciate a gift when it’s been given to you?” he asked her, adding sarcastically, “Oh wait, never mind. I forgot that you showing your appreciation means kissing someone you don’t have feelings for and then lying to cover up your embarrassment.”

Sandor regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth, but he’d be damned if he would apologize. As he held his breath waiting for her reaction, he could swear her eyes welled up with tears, causing another wave of guilt to wash over him. But then she turned away from him, stomping off into the woods and leaving him to wallow.

He hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and already he was fucking things up. Getting through the next week seemed an impossible task at this point. Though he knew it was risky, Sandor grabbed his pack and hiked off into the woods, looking for a private spot to take a quick swig of the moonshine. Just to calm him down right now. He wouldn’t drink it during the day ever again after this.

Checking behind him every so often to make sure he hadn’t been followed, Sandor eventually found an outcropping of rocks that would shield him from view in case anyone were to try to find him. He waited another few moments, listening for footsteps, before greedily digging one of the jars out of his pack. He uncapped it, careful not to spill, and took several gulps. It took a few minutes for the potent liquid to take effect, but once it did, Sandor felt he could finally face the world.

Just as he had wrapped the jar back up and slid it into his pack did a voice behind him nearly scare the shit out of him as it queried, “What are you doing out here?”

Sandor jumped, turning around to see who it was, and found Arya staring at him, clearly suspicious. Not knowing what else to say, he blurted out the only thing he could think of, “I was…I was…masturbating!” He could pretend he was putting away porn instead of the other illicit substance he had with him if she asked.

The wolf-bitch’s face twisted in disgust as she said, “Ewww! Gods, really? You couldn’t just rub one out in your tent?”

“You know damn well there isn’t a bit of privacy in that tiny piece of shit. Can’t a man have a minute to himself once in a while?” Sandor asked, folding his arms and glaring at her for effect.

“Whatever. I still think it’s gross to do something like that where anyone can see, but you do you I guess,” Arya said, her brows still drawn together and her lip curled, “I didn’t come out here to talk to you about something like that anyway.”

“Then what did you want?” he asked, a brow raised.

“I wanted to know what’s going on between you and my sister. I heard you guys yelling at each other last night. We all did, obviously,” Arya told him, giving him a pointed look, “So what gives? Are you guys fucking or something? Well, I guess not since you needed to come out here to get your jollies.”

“If you heard us yelling at each other, then you already know we’re not ‘fucking,’ as you so delicately put it,” Sandor answered, still scowling at her before adding softly, “You don’t need worry about it, all right? Nothing is going on between us. She made sure of that.”

“I can’t not worry about it. She’s my sister and you’re my…my Hound,” she finally settled on after taking a pause to think about it, “I love you both, so if there’s anything I can do to help, I want to. But I can’t do that if you won’t just tell me what happened.”

It was the first time she’d ever said the word ‘love’ out loud, and even with all the alcohol running through his system, Sandor couldn’t help but get emotional. A tear came to his eye as he walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace. Though she was startled, she hugged him back, if a bit awkwardly then stepped away, saying again, “So, tell me what’s going on.”

Although Sandor’s tongue was a bit looser due to the moonshine, it wasn’t enough to bring him to tell Arya everything that had transpired between he and Sansa. Instead, he said simply, “I showed her how I felt, thought she felt the same, turns out she didn’t. End of story. We just need some space, wolf-bitch. So let us have it, okay?”

Arya bit her lip for a moment, before saying, “If you say so. Please…know that I’m here for you, okay? Just because she’s my sister doesn’t mean I’m automatically going to take her side.”

Sandor nodded and gave her a pat on the shoulder, saying, “Thanks. That means a lot. Now, let’s get back to camp before people start to think we’re fucking.”

“Ugh, that’s disgusting!” Arya shouted, running away from him and back towards the others. It was only when he watched her receding form that he wondered if she’d smelled the moonshine on his breath when he’d hugged her. Sandor hoped she didn’t but knew it would only be a matter of time before he was outed if she did. Either way, he decided not to worry about it, since he couldn’t change anything now.

Once he got back, things seemed almost normal. That is, until he noticed Sansa’s red, swollen eyes and knew for sure she’d been crying. Where he’d have felt an overwhelming shame at having hurt her again, instead, he felt nothing at all. Thanks to the liquor that generous moonshiner had left behind, Sandor likely wouldn’t be feeling anything for some time.

The rest of the day went by peacefully enough. Barely a word was spoken among them until they stopped to make camp once again. Brienne had consulted her atlas and concluded that they were very close to the Crossing now. It would only be a matter of days before they got there. She also announced a new watch schedule that started with Sansa and Arya. Then Brienne and Sandor would take there turn the following night. And the next night after that it would be Pod and then Sansa again, and so on and so forth down the line. He fleetingly thought it would be easier if there were an even number of them, and wondered if he shouldn’t part ways with them at the Crossing. Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if he weren’t there.

Such depressing thoughts troubled him most of the night, and as soon as dinner was finished, Sandor retired to his tent to polish off the jar of moonshine he’d started this morning. His buzz had worn off that afternoon, and he already couldn’t deal with all the things he was feeling. Watching Pod and Arya so obviously in love and happy with one another made him feel sick to his stomach, thinking about how that could have been he and Sansa. And seeing her just fine in spite of all that had happened only made him feel worse. He’d never be able to sleep without a little assistance, and so he chose to once again self-medicate, downing the clear, burning liquid in one swift gulp.

As he drifted off, he thought about how nice it would be to finally get a full night’s rest. It would be the first time since the end of the world, and he hoped that being able to sleep would finally help him feel a little better. Maybe tomorrow he’d only need to drink half a jar of moonshine to make it through the day.

In his dreams, Sandor sees his mother’s face. She is smiling at him, holding her arms open, beckoning him into an embrace. Somehow, he’s taller than her, and as he moves to hold her, the image of her shimmers and suddenly it is Sansa he is pulling against his chest. He holds onto her fiercely, willing her to stay in his arms, but it is useless as she starts to turn to sand, fully slipping through his fingers. As the tears fall down his face he can hear crying, and suddenly he is in his childhood home. His baby sister’s room is at the end of the hall, and she is screaming. He runs, and runs, trying to get to her before Gregor can, but he doesn’t get any closer and then Sandor can hear grunting and groaning and knows he is too late.

Sandor awoke with a start, the sound of his agonized cries filling his ears. Eventually, as he quieted down, he realized that he wasn’t the only one screaming. From outside the tent, he could hear female voices crying out, and knew that Sansa or Arya—or gods forbid, both of them—had run into trouble. 

He scrambled to his feet, hastily unzipping the tent to find at least fifteen zombies inside their camp, and many more on the way. Apparently, a hoard had stumbled across them in the night. Everyone had woken up except him it would seem, because he saw each member of the group fighting off one of the undead.

Sandor’s eyes desperately searched the camp for Sansa and found her grappling a particularly large zombie who appeared to be overpowering her. As he watched her knees begin to buckle, he reached for his knife and was off, stumbling through the brush to save her without a second thought. 

By the time he reached her, they’d fallen to the ground, Sansa’s knife glittering in the leaves behind her as she did her best to keep the monster’s snapping jaws away from her face. Sandor raised his own knife to strike, but, due to the fact that he was still a little drunk, missed his intended target of its head and drove the blade deep into the creature’s shoulder. He expected it to turn around and face him, but realized that the lack of pain it felt meant that his attack was little more than a slight distraction to the meal it had in front of it.

Sandor had no choice but to physically pull the thing off of her, and grabbed it under the arms, hauling it backwards. It fought him, and he couldn’t help but lose his balance, falling to the ground with the zombie landing on top of him. It knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment he was stunned. However, he came back to his senses quickly as it rolled off of him and started to crawl towards him, eager fingers gripping the front of his jacket.

Fortunately for him, he was much stronger than the zombie, and he grabbed its head in between his hands, rolling so that he was above it and could slam it down into the ground. Its skull cracked open like an overripe watermelon, with brains and gore spilling out onto the forest floor.

Knowing the danger wasn’t behind them, Sandor whirled to check that Sansa was all right and was just in time to catch her leaping to her feet and grabbing for her knife. Just the sight of her prepared and ready for battle distracted him and filled him with pride, knowing how far she’d come from the scared, defenseless girl he’d first met. However, the groans of the undead brought him crashing back to reality once more, and he exclaimed urgently, “We have to leave.”

She nodded, turning to run to the others. At the same moment, Brienne shouted, “We can’t hold them off any longer. We need to run!”

Sandor only had a few seconds, and it finally occurred to him that if they ran, there was no guarantee he would ever seen his moonshine again. He had to choose between his hunting knife and a clean getaway, or the only the thing that had allowed him to get through the last couple days. If he went back to his tent, he wasn’t sure he would make it out alive.

It only took a second’s hesitation before he made his decision.

He threw the body of the zombie back to the ground and rushed to retrieve his bag. Their camp was close to being overrun at this point, so he had to shove several of the undead out of the way, scrambling through the small entrance of the tent once he reached it. He quickly slung the backpack over his shoulder, turning to leave and seeing that one of the living dead had already tried to follow him inside.

His hand immediately went to where his knife usually sat on his hip, and he remembered that he had sacrificed it for what currently sat on his back. Sandor gritted his teeth, grunting angrily as he made to shove through the small crowd of the living dead that had gathered outside.

Hands grasped for him, but he easily bowled over the few dead that were swarmed around the tent. However, there were many more where that came from, and they blocked the way Sandor had seen the others run. He had no choice but to escape in the opposite direction and hope that he would find them later when he could circle around.

Sandor ran for a long time, until the moans of the dead were far enough from him that he could only hear them as a whisper on the wind. The sun was just starting to come up, and he knew that he needed to start doubling back and to make a large loop around the horde if he had any chance of find the others before they got too far.

The stressful night was starting to get to him, and he decided to treat himself to a quick swig of moonshine to help with his nerves. After all, he was probably dehydrated, so he needed to replenish his fluids. Then, he was off, praying silently to the gods that he was going in the right direction to make it back to his girls.


	19. Chapter 19

Sandor had been walking for what felt like hours, and he was fucking tired. The sun had risen fully in the sky now, and it shone down upon him brightly through the canopy of leaves above him. His head pounded, and he was starting to lose hope of ever finding the others at this point. It was hard to say how far off track he’d gotten without a map to guide him, and for once he actually missed Brienne and her micromanagement bullshit.

There was a small part of him that regretted ever having gone back for his bag, but then he remembered just how vital the moonshine was to his survival, and he decided there was no use feeling badly about it now. Now he had to focus on moving forward if he was ever going to see the little bird or the wolf-bitch again. It hadn’t even been a day and he already missed them both, a fact that was both expected and surprising all at once.

Having always thought of himself a loner, he had never really considered how he would feel if he truly lost either of them forever. In times like these, it wasn’t a given that people would be around for the long haul. Yet somehow, he’d taken for granted that they would always be together. It was a surprise to him that he’d never put much thought to what it would be like if he never saw them again. Now that he was experiencing the possibility, it felt much shittier than he had expected.

The feeling helped to renew his vigor, and added a bit of pep to his step as he hurried through the forest. He would find them before the sun went down, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

However, as the day started to draw to a close, he was losing hope that he would actually reach his goal. It would be no use traveling at night, and so, with a heavy heart, Sandor decided to make camp for the night. He found an outcrop of rocks which would give him some shelter, and cover from a few sides so he would only need to keep watch in one direction. It was likely to be a long, lonely, stressful evening, and he wanted to be able to get as much rest as he could. Who knew how long he would have to walk to find them?

As he sat on the ground feeling sorry for himself, he instinctively reached for the moonshine that had been keeping him company thus far. Yet the jar in his hand felt heavy, more like a burden than the respite it usually did. Perhaps it was because the liquor and his desire for it were to blame for his current circumstances. After all, if he had just followed Sansa, he’d still be with them instead of sitting in the dirt, alone. The thought that the alcohol he had was more important to him than making sure they were safe and he was able to protect them made Sandor sick to his stomach. Rather than drinking it, he shoved the jar back into his bag with a snarl, cursing himself all the while.

Perhaps Sansa was right about him after all. As soon as he didn’t have her as a distraction—though he’d never really look at her as just a distraction—he’d turned to the only thing he knew that would numb his pain. Maybe if he just tried to deal with his problems instead of burying himself in women and liquor he wouldn’t be here now.

Sandor continued to beat himself up for most of the night, and slept fitfully as a result. Before he knew it, the sun was up, and he was twice as exhausted as he had been the previous day. Nevertheless, he carried on, desperate to get back to the Stark girls and prove to them just how sorry he was for the selfish choice they didn’t know he’d made.

His hopes had begun to fade, however, as he walked aimlessly through the woods. Everything around him looked the same, so much so that he could swear was walking in circles. Not that it much mattered if they’d already left without him, a fear that was becoming more real by the second. Yesterday the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind, but the longer he wandered, the more he realized they had no idea he was even still alive. For all they knew, he’d died, and they’d given him a lovely funeral before heading for the Crossing.

The sun was just beginning to set on another day when he heard noise up ahead, and stopped to listen. The sound of voices made his heart start hammering in his chest, and he started to run towards them, only to stop himself. Since there was no guarantee that it was actually them, Sandor needed to approach with caution and did so, taking care not to make a sound.

When he drew closer, he could better make out what the voices were talking about.

“What if he never comes back?” Arya’s voice asked, sounding strained.

“He’ll find us, Arya. Clegane is nothing if not resourceful. We just need to stay in the area to give him the best chance of reaching us,” Brienne’s reassuring voice answered.

Sansa’s voice piped up next, sounding tearful as she said, “I just don’t understand how we got separated. He was right behind me, and then he wasn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, Sansa,” Pod told her kindly, adding after a moment of silence, “Things happen.”

“But what if he died because he had to save me? Then it’s all my fault,” Sansa cried. There were sounds of quiet sobbing and someone whispering comforting words afterwards, and Sandor decided not to listen anymore.

He pushed through the brush, saying flippantly, “Wow, I didn’t know you cared so much.” In truth, he was incredibly moved by the fact that they were actually worried about them, but he’d be damned if they’d ever find out.

“Sandor!” Sansa shouted at the same time as Arya yelled, “Hound!”

Before he could react, Sansa was up and running towards him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tear-stained kiss. Her lips were soft and salty, and he was so flabbergasted that he almost forgot to kiss her back. Almost.

Even though the others were watching, he crushed her body to his, and let his mouth do the talking as she parted her lips to let his tongue tangle with hers. It was raw, it was emotional, and for a minute, he could swear she loved him, too.

Sandor forgot to breathe, and so had to break the kiss in order to get a little oxygen back to his brain. His head was spinning as Sansa started to whisper to him, “I’m sorry” over and over again. “Sorry for what, little bird?” Sandor whispered back, still reeling as his heart pounded hard in his chest.

“Sorry for ever doubting you. Sorry for letting something insignificant stand between us because I was scared of how I felt. Sorry for everything,” she told him quietly, and leaned up and kissed him again.

He was about to show her just how sorry she shouldn’t be, when Arya yelled, “Get a room you two!” That was enough to kill the mood, and the two of them sprang apart, though not too far.

“Get over here, wolf-bitch” Sandor said, opening his arms to her.

“Only if you promise not to shove your tongue down my throat, Hound,” she said, laughing and hugging him all the same.

After a happy reunion, Brienne pulled out her atlas, and did her best to figure out their exact location. She frowned, and after a few minutes said, “I don’t know how far off track we’ve gone. We’ll have to find our way to a main road before I can really get our bearings. Let’s rest up for tonight and then head out tomorrow.”

They all agreed, and everyone got to work to set up camp for the night. As Sandor started to collect firewood, his pack filled with alcohol felt like a constant reminder of the heavy cost of his decision. Once again, it occurred to him that Sansa had a point, because as soon as he was in pain, he turned to drink without even thinking how it would affect everyone else. And now, seeing how hurt everyone would be to lose him, he realized he needed to get rid of it and never touch a drop again.

Sandor tried to get away from the others in order to dump the moonshine out, but just when he thought he’d found a private spot and began to unzip his bag, he heard a soft voice say, “Sandor?”

He jumped and whirled around to find that Sansa had followed him. Just like her sister had the day before. He smiled to himself as the thought that they were more alike than they realized crossed his mind.

“Shouldn’t you be setting up camp for the night?” he asked her as she walked closer to him.

“There’s not much to do so I thought we could pick up where we left off…” she said, trailing off and smiling suggestively at him.

“I like the sound of that,” Sandor said, dropping his pack with a heavy thump. Although it had seemed easy at first, he realized that things still felt so tenuous between them. Like any moment the spell could break, and he’d wake up to realize it was all just a dream.

He watched Sansa carefully as she cautiously approached him, her arms snaking around his waist when she reached him. Delicately, Sandor cradled her face in his hands as he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. They felt just as good as the first time, better even, and he nipped at her bottom lip to see if she wanted more.

Sansa did, it would seem, because a moment later she’d parted her lips and curled her tongue into his mouth. Blood rushed straight between his legs, though he took care not to press himself against her. He had no intention of pushing her into something she wasn’t ready for just yet. Instead, he focused on the things he knew she did want, and tangled his fingers into her hair as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. The action caused her to moan, and she brought her hands around to his front, reaching up under his shirt to touch his bare chest with her soft fingertips.

It was Sandor’s turn to groan, and he knew if he didn’t lean up against a nearby tree soon, his knees would be too weak to support his weight. He wrapped his arms around Sansa’s waist, and tried to back up, but wound up tripping over his backpack in the process and nearly brought them both to the ground. The same action caused several of the jars of moonshine to spill out on the ground, clanking against the rocks that littered the forest floor.

“What are those?” Sansa asked, her smile fading as she stared down at them. In the waning light, he could see her expression go from curious to hurt as she grabbed one of the jars.

“Sansa, no!” Sandor yelled, lunging for her. She was too agile, however, and he watched in horror as she unscrewed the lid and took a generous whiff of the liquor.

As her nose wrinkled, she glared at him with naked disgust, saying, “I can’t believe I ever thought I was wrong about you.” She quickly screwed the lid back on and started running towards camp. Sandor ran after her, though he wasn’t nearly as fast as a former track star, and by the time he made it himself, it was evident she had already told them what he’d done.

Brienne was the first to catch sight of him, and when she did, she glowered at him, saying, “Get out of here.”

“Please, listen to me—” Sandor began, wanting to get at least a chance to explain.

“No. You knew what would happen if you drank again. You had one chance, and you blew it. I want you gone,” Brienne spat, her voice venomous.

“Look, I was just about to dump it out. You don’t even know if I drank it!” Sandor yelled, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, did you?” Arya asked him quietly. She’d leveled him with a hard stare, and he knew he couldn’t look her in the eye and lie to her. When he didn’t say anything immediately, she asked him again, “Did you drink it?”

“Arya, I…” Sandor trailed off, defeated. What could he say?

Her lip trembled, and she said, “That’s why we got separated isn’t it? Because you had to go back for your precious booze. You had a choice, and you made it last night. Just go.” Her voice began to wobble, and she stormed off, probably to cry. Pod followed after her, shooting Sandor a sympathetic look in spite of everything.

That left him alone with Sansa and Brienne, the former who wouldn’t even look at him, and the latter who had started to walk towards him threateningly.

“Brienne, please, I promise I won’t mess up again,” Sandor plead, feeling like a pathetic piece of shit as he groveled for forgiveness.

“That’s what you said last time. And I told you there wouldn’t be a next time. So, this is your last warning. Leave. Now.” At the last word, she shoved the jar into his chest, a scowl on her face. He knew she meant business, because her push knocked him off balance, almost sending him to the ground.

Sandor, not knowing what else to do, listened, and turned to slink off into the woods. But not before getting the last word in and yelling, “I don’t fucking need you assholes anyway. You won’t last a week without me. You’ll see.”

And then he was gone, off to pick up the only two things he had left in this world: his bag, and his moonshine.

Sansa didn’t know a fucking thing, and neither did Brienne. None of them did. They would be lost without him, and soon they would see it. All he had to do was wait, follow them until they were obviously ready to beg for him to come back, and then wander out of the forest, benevolent and forgiving. It would happen in less than a day, Sandor bet.

But it didn’t.

Though he tracked them successfully for two nights, Sandor eventually lost them after a particularly serious bender in which he consumed too full jars of moonshine in a single evening. His head had spun as he stared up at the stars and let himself get lost into oblivion.

Sandor then woke up in the afternoon, everything foggy through the haze of his still-drunk state. His heart started to pound as he eventually came across the remnants of their camp, and what looked to be footprints fading into the distance. He cursed himself for sleeping so late, and started to stumbled after them. Sandor made chase for a while, until the footsteps disappeared into a creek and didn’t come out the other side.

The high was wearing off, and he could feel his heart breaking as he realized he was now, fully and truly alone in this world. He’d lost them. Forever.

At first, Sandor allowed the pain to wash over him. It hurt to be separated from them, especially in a world where finding one another wasn’t as simple as searching for someone’s name on the internet. But then, a wave of anger cascaded over him instead, as he realized how selfish they were for just leaving him behind. How could they, after all he’d done for them? How many times had he saved each of their asses, and this was the fucking thanks he got? To be abandoned, alone in the woods with no supplies and no protection?

He was going to give them a piece of his fucking mind.

And the only way to do that, was to beat them to the Crossing.

With single-minded determination, Sandor picked a direction and started walking, knowing he’d eventually hit a road, and from there he’d be able to get to the Crossing in no time at all. Bandits be fucking damned, he wasn’t going to hide anymore. They’d put enough distance between them and the guys they’d pissed off anyway.

Luck—or the gods, he didn’t really know—happened to be on his side, and within a few hours, he’d found the main highway that led straight there.

Sandor walked the rest of the day until night started to fall, and decided to make camp for the evening in a gas station along the side of the road. Naturally, because it was right next to the highway, it was almost fully picked over. His stomach rumbled tiredly, and he knew he’d eat whatever was left if only to fill his stomach.

Unfortunately for him, the only things left over were some expired pet food and a lot of ruined food in the abandoned coolers. There was a healthy bed of mold growing over the perishable stuff, and so he had to resort to eating the canned dog food. At that, he snorted. It was truly a meal fit for a Hound.

Though it was disgusting, he barely tasted a thing washing it down with what was becoming the last bit of moonshine he had. If he wasn’t careful, he’d run out of that before he found the others, and he wanted to be at least a little drunk so he could give them a piece of his mind without bitching out at the last second. With that thought in mind, he stowed the jar away, refusing to finish it.

As he settled in for the night, Sandor comforted himself with the thought of knowing he would get the last word in after all. And with that, he fell asleep, a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things must always get worse before they can better...
> 
> Thanks again for everyone's patience. My line of work revolves around the holiday season, and we're currently in our peak weeks so I've been bombarded with an abundance of things to do and a lot of long hours. I just want to do this story justice and give it the ending it deserves. So I appreciate everyone who's willing to stick it out even with slower updates. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TW: Major Character Death***

Sandor woke the next morning, groggy, hungry, and finally sober for the first time in days. It was a shock to his system, and he shook as he rubbed his eyes and tried to fully rouse himself. Every part of him ached, and he felt like shit as he had to block his eyes from the bright sunshine streaming in through the windows. His head pounded, so much so that he had to grab a pair of sunglasses from the display in the store to help ease some of the pain. Aspirin would have been better, but that, along with most of the food in this place, had been taken long ago.

He caught sight of his face in the mirror, and cringed at how haggard his reflection looked. It hadn’t even been a week and Sandor already looked terrible. He turned away before he could get too caught up in feeling sorry for himself.

He had a mission after all.

Sandor combed his fingers through his tangled hair and slapped his cheeks a couple of times to wake himself a little more, and then he was off.

The day was unseasonably warm for autumn, and as the sun beat down on him, he decided to remove his jacket. Just looking at it reminded him of Sansa and the way she’d made fun of it after he’d been such a prick to her when they’d first met. He grunted his displeasure as he shoved it in his bag, knowing he’d never be fully rid of her or his feelings for her. Everything in this godsdamned world would probably make him think of her, from the way the leaves changed and matched the color of her hair, to the way campfire smell would remind him of all their late night conversations keeping watch. It made him sick to his stomach. And sick in his heart.

As he walked, he rehearsed several speeches in his head, each more scathing than the last, and all designed to maximize the guilt they’d feel for abandoning him. Just picturing the shame on their faces made him feel better and added a slight spring to his step. In fact, Sandor was so invigorated by his petty internal ranting, that he made better time than he anticipated, and stopped early to rest for the night. He was close now, and if slept well tonight and hurried when he woke, he’d make it to the Crossing by tomorrow afternoon.

The situation in the rest stop was just the same as the situation in the convenience store he’d found the night before. Scarcely any food laid around, all the vending machines having been broken open and raided long ago. The dust that had settled on the shards of glass all over the floor gave testament to how early on this place had been ransacked. Still, it would do for shelter for the night.

Sandor set to work, locking the doors around the facility and finding a spot to sleep away from the windows in case anyone were to wander by. The tiled floor was cold and hard, and he wished then that he hadn’t forgotten to snag his sleeping bag when he’d gone back for his pack. However, when he finally settled in for the night, he was struck by how exhausted he actually was, and fell into a deep, restful sleep, in spite of the lack of amenities.

Early the next morning he awoke to a scraping sound coming from one of the glass doors leading into the rest stop, as the first rays of sunshine spilled across the floor. Sandor knew it was one of the living dead, and allowed himself a moment to wake up before he dealt with it. He stared at his breath fogging in front of him and contemplated whether or not this mission was worth it. His stomach rumbled, hungry from not having eaten the previous day. Even though he was close to reaching his goal, he was beginning to feel like he was running a fool’s errand. Alcohol was no longer clouding his thoughts, and he started to see how foolish he was in thinking they’d feel guilty for leaving him behind. After all, they’d kicked him out. If they thought someone was following them, it was only right for Brienne to make sure he lost their trail.

Guilt started to weigh heavily on him, and rather than deal with it, he reached for his pack and pulled out his last jar of moonshine. He took a couple swigs and then put it away to save the rest of it for the Crossing.

Then, it was time to dispatch the zombie.

Sandor stood, reaching instinctively for his knife, then realizing he still hadn’t rearmed himself. Thankfully, brute force was an option, and as he rounded the corner, he prepared for a fight.

However, the sight that greeted him stole his breath, and he quickly darted back into his sleeping spot, praying the horde outside hadn’t seen him.

Though Sandor couldn’t be sure, there were at least thirty zombies passing by the doors to the rest stop. The scraping sound he’d heard was one who had no legs and was desperately clawing at the pavement to continue on its way. As he peeked around the corner from his hiding place, he could see that there appeared to be no end to the parade of corpses making their way down the highway.

If he was right, this was likely the biggest horde he’d ever encountered. Minutes passed and every time he looked there seemed to still be more zombies. There was no way he could fight his way through them, so he would just have to wait them out.

It was still a mystery to him why they all banded together like this, islands of zombies in an empty world. Arya had suggested once that it was because they were like lemmings, following each other off a cliff because they couldn’t think for themselves. Sansa had said it was because they were probably lonely and wanted to be together, something he’d scoffed at. Whatever the reason, it seemed like the longer time went on, the more common an occurrence it became.

Eventually it passed, but Sandor knew where it was headed, and knew he’d definitely have to get to the Crossing ahead of it so he could warn the others. The last thing they needed was to have to worry about a pack of zombies on their tail when they were trying to get across the bridge. Or, worse, if they made it across the bridge and decided to rest, only to be eaten alive by the dead once they caught up to them. Any scenario he could come up with made him feel sick to his stomach, and he quickly gathered his things and went on his way.

Sandor proceeded with caution and after he’d dispatched with the legless zombie who’d gotten left behind, he stood outside the rest stop and had his worst fears confirmed. At least a hundred corpses were shambling their way in the direction of the Crossing. He could hear their moans even from this distance, and the sound sent a chill down his spine.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he began to run into the woods bordering the highway. It was foolish, reckless even, with him basically running on liquor and fumes, but Sandor knew he had to get to them. He was desperate, and knew he was going to lose time having to make a wide arc around the horde.

Running through the forest proved to be just as bad an idea as he expected, and he got lost twice, which only made him more frantic. Sandor’s chest heaved, and his tongue felt dry as sweat poured from his forehead. All he had to quench his thirst was the rest of the moonshine, and he drank it almost greedily, even though he knew it wouldn’t slake his thirst.

The journey was short, but harrowing, and thankfully he made it to the Crossing ahead of the horde. He could see it in the near distance, but knew he had just enough time to warn the group if they were indeed nearby.

The impressive twin bridges (also called the Twins at times, because people are so fucking clever) he was distracted momentarily by the daunting nature of their size. Each bridge was five lanes across, and all of them were packed with cars that had been abandoned long ago. They spanned the largest part of the Trident, which was rushing angrily below. The suspension cables still stood proud and he was glad that whoever built them had at least done a good enough job to make them last in spite of no one managing their upkeep.

Rather than try to scan the bridge and find them, Sandor took off, dodging through cars and praying that he’d reach them in time. So desperate was he to find them, that he started calling their names, “Sansa! Arya! Pod! Brienne!” His voice began to grow hoarse with his cries, until he saw a sight for sore eyes in Brienne, standing and waving him over.

At first, he thought she was welcoming him with open arms, but the expression on her face, and that of the rest of the group made him realize they were still quite angry with him.

“What in the Seven hells are you doing here?” Brienne hissed, scowling at him, “I thought we’d lost you at the stream days ago.”

It stung that not only had she known it was him that was following them, but that she’d made the conscious decision to abandon him after all. “I came to tell you to fuck off,” Sandor began drunkenly, his anger renewed, but was interrupted by Sansa’s derisive snort. “Maybe I still should” he said, shooting her a glare, then added, “Now I’m here to tell you that you need to go. There’s a horde coming your way. Big one. Biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“We know! We were just on our way back south to wait for it to pass,” Arya told him, rolling her eyes.

“South? If you go south you’re just walking right into it,” Sandor told them, shaking his head, “You need to go north, now.”

“The horde is to the north,” Brienne said slowly, staring holes into him, “See for yourself.”

Sandor stood up slowly, doing his best not to attract the attention of the zombies who were _to the south_ when he saw a mass of them coming from the north as well. “Wow. We’re totally fucked. Look south,” he mumbled numbly, thinking this was exactly how he didn’t want to die when they’d concocted this idiotic plan.

Brienne stood, gasped, and crouched back down with her hand over her mouth.

“What is it?” Sansa whispered, fear in her eyes.

“Clegane wasn’t lying…” Brienne trailed off, still in shock.

The others looked up over the cars and saw what he didn’t need to. Their muffled cries told him everything. The horde he’d tried so desperately to outrun had finally reached them. They were trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and both had teeth and tongues that would eat them alive.

“What are we going to do, Brienne?” Pod asked urgently, his eyes darting back and forth nervously.

For the first time, she snapped at him, crying, “I don’t know! Just let me think! I could…no, that would never work…we could…but…” Brienne trailed off, her eyes becoming more crestfallen by the second.

Sandor stared around at all their faces, thinking about how much he wished things were different. That night in the forest had changed the course of their lives forever, Sandor’s actions in particular. They would have reached the Crossing a day sooner if he’d just gone with them in the first place, instead of going back for the damnable moonshine. But instead, he’d chosen himself, his desires, his addiction, and now everyone was paying the price for it.

The hope started to die on each of their faces as they realized their odds of fighting their way through either horde and making it out alive were slim to none. Arya clung to Pod, crying into his chest as they began to understand the fact that their lives were likely to come to an end on this godsforsaken bridge. His eyes finally settled on Sansa, and he could see tears trailing silently down her face as she stared numbly at the ground.

As he watched her cry, a light bulb clicked on in his mind. If he could just distract the dead long enough, they still stood a chance of living. Not everyone had to die on this bridge. Just one person did. Sandor looked around, his head swiveling in all directions as he tried to figure out the best way, until he noticed a bumper sagging off of one of the numerous cars around them. If he ripped that off, he could…yes. That would work. But first, goodbyes.

“Brienne,” Sandor said, his mind feeling clear for the first time in ages, “Keep them safe, and get them to Winterfell. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“Clegane…?” she replied, seeming startled, but he didn’t pay her anymore mind.

Sandor looked to Pod next, saying, “Pod, take care of the wolf-bitch for me, will you? She’s a handful, I know, but she needs you more than she’ll admit.”

“Hound, what are you going on about?” Arya asked him before he pulled her in for a fierce embrace. At first, she struggled, but then she seemed to realize something was different as he pulled away, and she asked, desperately this time, “What are you going to do?”

“Wolf-bitch, Arya, you’re the litter sister I never got a chance to have. I hope you can forgive me some day, even though I don’t deserve it. At the very least, don’t forget me, okay?”

He ruffled her hair, and turned to Sansa next. The little bird. The most painful goodbye of them all. “Sansa, I…” Sandor trailed off, not knowing what to say, or how to say it.

“Sandor, don’t do this,” Sansa whispered frantically, crawling across the pavement to him, “Whatever your plan is, just don’t. We can figure this out.” She grabbed the front of his jacket, shaking it for emphasis.

He cradled her face and said softly, “It’s the only way, little bird. I’m sorry for everything, and I hope you can see that now. I was never the man you deserved. I wish I could have been, but…maybe in another lifetime we could have had a chance. I just…” He trailed off. As much as he wanted to tell her he loved her, that he would always love her, the words still wouldn’t come. Everything he’d ever loved had suffered, and he couldn’t put that curse on her. Instead, Sandor pulled her face close to his, their lips crashing together for the last time. It was bittersweet, and when she kissed him back, Sandor felt his resolve waver.

But then the kiss was over, and Sandor was ready for the end. The last thing he did before he left was to slip his jacket off his shoulders and put it on Sansa’s. He wouldn’t need it where he was going after all.

And then he was off, snagging the car bumper along the way. It didn’t take much effort to pry it off, which he was thankful for.

 

No, the most difficult part was climbing up one of the suspension cables on the bridge. They were much bigger up close, and Sandor wasn’t the most agile of people. But soon he had a good grip and was up high enough that he saw both hordes clearly closing in on the group.

As he hung there, words Sansa spoke to him long ago came into his mind unbidden: “Perhaps the gods saved you because they have plans for you.” They rattled around his mind, haunting him now with how eerily prophetic they’d been. Yet if they were true, Sandor didn’t mind. If anything, he believed them, knowing that if this was the fate the gods had intended for him, he would accept it gladly. His final act would be the only unselfish act in his life. To give his life to save the people he cared for most in the world would be an honor.

With that in mind, Sandor began to pound the metal bumper against the suspension cable, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Hey! You ugly fucks! Come get a piece of this!”

The moans, which had been a quiet din, grew to a loud frenzy as the living dead finally caught sight of a decent meal. All they had to do was come and get it. Immediately, the paths of the hordes changed, and they started to filter towards one side of the bridge, giving the group a clear path to sneak through on the other side.

He continued to bang the bumper, each clang loud in his ears, as he screamed every obscenity he could think of. “Fuck you assholes for ruining the world! Fuck you for eating people, for taking people away! You pieces of shit!” He prayed they would make it out, that what he was doing wouldn’t be for nothing, and Sandor’s eyes desperately searched the bridge for their crouched forms.

Soon enough, he spotted a flash of red, and realized that Brienne had draped Sansa over her shoulder. At first he thought he could hear her screaming, but then the only noise was what he was making, and he saw that Sansa was now limp in Brienne’s arms.

Tears came, unexpected and distracting. This was the last time he’d ever lay eyes on the little bird, and for all the world, he wished it weren’t so. Was this really the end of their story?

At that moment, the zombies had finally reached him now, and they were eagerly grasping at his feet. Sandor swung his only weapon, the car bumper, at them, but it wasn’t enough as hundreds of hands started to pull on him. He was being dragged down, and there was nothing he could do now.

No.

Sandor would _not_ die this way. He was too stubborn to be eaten by a bunch of lifeless fucks. If he was going to go out, it would be on his terms.

He takes a deep breath, and lets go of the suspension cable, falling backwards through the air. His stomach rushes to his throat as he free falls towards the turbulent Trident below him. Several shambling corpses follow him over the side, but Sandor knows it doesn’t matter. As soon as he hits the water, he’ll be dead.

The bumper hits first, making a loud splash, and then he is swallowed by cold. Then dark. As he fades out, his last thought is of Sansa, and then, there is nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was hard. To write, to edit, then to finalize, has been some of the most difficult writing I've had to do. I wanted to do this 'death' justice, and so that's partially why this chapter took longer to post. That, and anxiety that people would (understandably) be upset. The following chapters are also going to be very difficult for me, so please be patient. Thank you to those who have stuck it out through all of the changes in my life that have stopped me from being able to write. Your kindness and patience is most appreciated. And thank you in advance for everyone who sticks with this story even though it's a bit of angst-fest at the moment. Things will look up eventually.


	21. Chapter 21

It was black behind Sansa’s eyelids as she found herself trapped within a terrible nightmare. She was back in King’s Landing, with hundreds of the dead closing in on her. Her back was to the wall, with only her father in front of her for protection. Suddenly, he was broader, taller, more muscular, and she could tell it was Sandor standing over her somehow instead. The world tilted, and a moment later, they were on a bridge, surrounded by the dead. Hundreds of hands reached out, grabbing and clawing at him, and Sansa watched in horror as another person she loved was torn apart in front of her. Then, there was a pain at the back of her head, and Sansa starts screaming as she realized, she, too was being eaten. No one can save her now. Blood is everywhere, and Sansa falls, falls, falls into the darkness of the zombies’ gaping maws…

She sat bolt upright, clutching her hands to her chest as her breathing came in sharp, labored gasps. It was dark, save for the small fire that lit their camp.

Brienne was by her side at once, asking, “Are you all right?”

Sansa groaned as the sharp pain she felt in her dream was still very real now that she was awake. Her hand went to the back of her head, rubbing it while she laid back down. “I was having a horrible dream,” she murmured, unable to stop herself from letting the words out, “Gods, my head is killing me. What happened? How did we get here?” Her memory was failing her as she tried to recall what had happened at the Crossing.

With a sheepish look, Brienne said, “Sorry about your head. But I needed you to be quiet and you wouldn’t so I did what I had to do.”

“Why did you need me to be quiet?” Sansa asked, an uneasy feeling overtaking her. Then, at once, it all came back to her, memories flooding in like the Trident. Sandor on the bridge, kissing her goodbye, banging that stupid piece of metal and distracting all the zombies, Sandor surrounded by all those grasping hands. Then, a sharp pain, and the world was gone. As she remembered, she gasped, and the look on her face told Brienne she didn’t need an explanation any longer. “Where’s Sandor?” she demanded as she sat up once more, regret immediate as her head spun.

“I suppose you didn’t see, did you?” Brienne stated, the question obviously rhetorical.

No, Sansa hadn’t seen. The icy hand of dread gripped her heart, as she started to realize something terrible had happened on that bridge. Had Sandor died just like her father? She wouldn’t believe it. Not until she laid eyes on the corpse.

“See what?” she asked faintly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Clegane…Sandor gave his life for us. He’s gone, Sansa,” Brienne answered quietly, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t believe you,” Sansa said coldly, shrugging Brienne’s hand away and standing up, “We have to go back there. He’s probably waiting for us to come get him.”

“Sansa, he’s not there. I…saw him fall into the river,” Brienne said softly, adding, “He didn’t come back up, as far as I know.”

“Well, how would you? It’s not like you were sitting around watching the whole time,” Sansa replied snidely, still in disbelief.

Brienne sighed and looked drawn as she explained, “We both know that the river is deadly to even the most competent swimmers. Sandor was drunk when he fell, Sansa, and he looked exhausted, too. There’s no way he survived.”

Though the words were stated plainly, they broke Sansa’s heart all the same, and she scowled at Brienne as tears came to her eyes, crying, “How can you just talk about it like it doesn’t mean anything? You just say it so robotically, like it doesn’t even matter that he died for us! I bet you haven’t even cried once! How can you be so heartless?”

The words ‘he died’ echoed in Sansa’s mind long after she finished her little tirade. She didn’t want to admit the truth, yet it had still come out of her mouth anyway. It was so distracting that she almost didn’t notice the way Brienne’s face crumpled a second later.

She watched as the older woman began to weep, and for the first time since they’d begun traveling together did Sansa finally see just how human their leader was. “Of course I’ve cried! Maybe I didn’t like the man, but I never wanted him to die!”

Pod and Arya appeared suddenly at the sound of her lamentation, and it was obvious they had been crying, too. Arya’s eyes especially, were red-rimmed and puffy, and she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, even though only a matter of hours had passed.

Their attention was drawn back to Brienne as she began to speak once more, saying, “He wasn’t my friend, but we traveled together long enough. I cared about him, at least as a person. No one should have to die the way he did.” Her voice was more even as she’d gained her composure after her slip, though there were still tears on her face.

Arya began to sniffle, and Pod put his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. The truth finally began to sink in, and Sansa fell to her knees, staring around at all of them. Though she was close to the fire, she felt cold all over as the realization hit her that Sandor was really gone. There was no hope of ever seeing him again, of him getting better, of him showing up at Winterfell to beg their forgiveness. He was lost, his body probably halfway to the Saltpans by now.

At once, every moment she’d ever spent with him flashed before her eyes. Every conversation they’d ever had over the fire, every time they’d teased each other, every time he’d saved her life. Every smile, every gruff rebuke, every time he’d called her ‘little bird.’ Every kiss, few though they were, and every time he held her in his arms. The pendant he gave her felt heavy against her chest, and Sansa clutched it as she began to sob uncontrollably.

Sandor was dead.

Just like her family, he joined the many people she loved who she’d lost in this great war on humanity. And just like every time before, it broke Sansa a little bit more.

After that, no one spoke for some time. The only sounds made around the fire were sounds of mourning, as each of them thought about the person who’d given his life for them.

Once her tears dried, Sansa sat staring numbly into the fire, thinking of Sandor’s sacrifice. She felt her heart squeeze as she thought of all the times she’d believed he was selfish. Yet he’d allowed himself to die so they could live. Perhaps he’d done it out of guilt. Or maybe he’d done it because he wasn’t thinking straight. No matter the reason, Sansa didn’t want what he’d done to go unacknowledged.

“We should honor him,” Sansa finally spoke, the words coming out in a monotone.

Everyone looked at her, each of the group seeming startled at the sudden interruption of their grief.

“What do you mean, Sansa?” Brienne asked when no one else spoke up.

“What he did for us. I know there isn’t a body, but we should make a grave for him. Something to mark that he was here, and to thank him for…for what he did,” Sansa said, adding, “Tomorrow, we’ll pick out a spot and have a proper memorial.”

“Is that all right with everyone else?” Brienne said, turning to look at Arya and Pod.

“I’m not sure it’s what the Hound would have wanted…” Arya began uncertainly, “He probably would have said, ‘I don’t need all that sentimental bullshit. Fuck your memorial and fuck your grave.’” She chuckled weakly, and everyone smiled sadly at the thought.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be some long, drawn out thing,” Sansa said, “Just something for us, I guess. A way to say goodbye.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Pod chimed in, giving Arya a squeeze and looking down at her, “It’ll help with the grieving process.”

She sniffled, then nodded, and said, “Okay, let’s do it then.”

“It’s settled. For now, you three should get some sleep. I’ll take watch for the night,” Brienne offered kindly.

“You should sleep,” Sansa said, adding, “I’ve had enough rest, I think. If you stay up all night and then all day tomorrow you’ll regret it.”

She expected Brienne to put up a fight, but instead she was surprised to find that the other woman was too exhausted to argue. “Perhaps you’re right. If you’re sure, then I’m going to turn in now.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa said, wanting some time alone to work through her feelings.

Once everyone was asleep, she stared blankly into the fire, pulling Sandor’s jacket more closely around her. It was huge on her small frame, but that served its own purpose since she could layer underneath it once it got colder. Not that it wasn’t plenty chilly enough already. Sansa could see her breath in front of her, and she knew it was only going to get worse. The further north they went, the colder it would get, especially since winter was coming. They would need to reach Winterfell quickly if they didn’t want to get stranded in the middle of a blizzard with no shelter.

The thought of seeing her family home made her smile for just a moment, before she remembered that she would be seeing it without Sandor. There had been a time where she hadn’t wanted him there, and she cursed herself for ever having that thought. As time had gone on, she’d been excited to show him everything, even her old bedroom if it hadn’t been picked over by scavengers. With the old walls still surrounding the property, she doubted many people had gotten in. But still, if someone had been particularly determined, she wouldn’t be surprised if everything in her family’s estate had been ransacked.

Now she wouldn’t get to show him anything. And neither would Arya. Her heart broke a little more, and she sighed, putting her chin on her knees as she pulled them to her chest.

The sound of leaves rustling shook her out of her reverie, and she reached for her knife, already on the defensive. However, she soon saw it was only Arya, and relaxed, whispering quietly, “What are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep,” her sister replied bluntly, plopping down next to Sansa. She watched her sister sadly, seeing just how swollen her eyes still were. It wasn’t like Arya to cry, but perhaps the world had taken too much from her at this point, and she no longer had the will to hold the tears back. The thought broke Sansa’s heart even more.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked, after waiting a beat for Arya to say something else.

Arya chewed on her lip for a moment before she shook her head and said, “No…yes…I don’t know. It feels like talking is pointless, you know? It’s not going to bring him back.”

Sansa nodded, understanding what she meant. Nothing would make Sandor come back to life, no matter how badly she and everyone else wanted it. “It doesn’t even feel real,” she blurted without thinking.

“I know. I keep thinking he’ll show up, you know? Like, if we wait here long enough it’ll be just like before where he strolled out of the forest without a care in the world,” Arya said sadly, staring off into the distance as though watching for him.

With a heavy sigh, Sansa wiped a tear away and said, “If only. The way he appeared on that bridge certainly makes it seem like it could happen.”

“The Hound had a talent for being where he was needed when we needed him,” Arya said, then added, “I don’t know what we’ll do without him.”

“We’ll survive,” Sansa replied, smiling thinly, “We have to. It’s what he would want. He wouldn’t be happy if we just laid down and died. Besides, we still have each other, and that’s something to be thankful for, right?” She reached over and grabbed Arya’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re right,” Arya agreed, squeezing Sansa’s hand back, “We need to make it home. For him, and for us. Winterfell has been without a Stark for too long.”

They huddled next to each other the rest of the night, both for warmth and comfort, and when the first rays of dawn broke they set out to find a good spot to put the Hound to rest. Eventually, they found a secluded spot underneath a willow tree where they could put some kind of marker for remembrance.

“What should it be?” Pod asked, looking to Arya for an answer.

“A Seven pointed star?” Brienne suggested with a shrug.

“No, the Hound hated the gods and anything to do with the Seven,” Arya replied, shaking her head.

After a bit of debate back and forth, they settled on stacking some stones and carving his name into the tree. Arya did it with the knife he’d gifted her, though instead of Sandor, she wrote The Hound, her justification being that that was what she’d always called him.

They were all silent afterwards, until Brienne cleared her throat and asked, “Would anyone like to say a few words?”

After a beat, Pod went first, saying, “I know we weren’t close, but I always respected you. You kept us safe, most of the time anyway, and I know you cared about us even if you didn’t always show it.”

They all nodded as Brienne spoke next, “Clegane, you were a real bastard sometimes, and you did everything you could to make my life harder. You always liked to get the last word in, even if it killed you, and look what happened on the bridge. I wish there had been another way. I hope you wound up somewhere where you can finally be happy.”

Though her words weren’t kind, Sansa could tell there was pain beneath them, and that she mourned Sandor almost as much as the rest of them.

“Hound…” Arya began shakily, her lip trembling, “I’ll always remember the last thing you said to me. You wanted me to forgive you, or at the very least, to not forget you, which is such a stupid thing to say, because how could I forget such a fucked up face? Or your foul mouth? Or the way you always called me wolf-bitch, even when I hated it, and then because you knew I secretly liked it after a while? You were one of my best friends, like a brother to me, and now you’re gone, just like all my other friends and brothers. I’ll never forget you Hound, and I forgave you even when I thought you weren’t sorry. I just…I just…” And with that, she dissolved into tears, putting her face into her hands. Pod comforted her, and she leaned into his chest to continue mourning.

That left Sansa to say her final parting words to Sandor. Her whole body felt heavy as she opened her mouth and said quietly, “Sandor, I didn’t know you for very long. At first, I didn’t like you at all. You were such a hateful man, and you seemed to take pleasure in being cruel to others. But then I realized it was just a front when I saw all the other sides of you. Like, the side of you that so clearly cared for Arya, and the side of you that wanted to watch out for the group even when you acted like we were just a bother. The playful side of you that would tease me, and the darker side of you that held all of your painful memories from the past. Sometimes I could see the man I know you wanted to be, even though it was hard for you. You came to mean so much to me in such a short time. More than you ever knew. I loved you, Sandor. I still do. I wish I’d told you that night you gave me this necklace. I wish I’d told you on the bridge. But I didn’t then, so I’m doing it now. I just hope wherever you are, you can hear me, and you know how much you meant to me. Goodbye Sandor.”

She kissed her fingers and placed them against the roughly carved ‘Hound’ on the tree, before taking a step back and turning to the others, “Shall we?” Sansa asked, holding back tears.

Though their hearts were heavy, they soldiered on, with the tragedy that had befallen them bringing them that much closer together.

For a time, they traveled on foot, raiding anything and everything along the road for food and other supplies. At times they had to resort to foraging, though the lower the temperature dropped, the less that activity yielded. Exhaustion and hunger overwhelmed the group, making it harder to travel the distance that they needed to cover in the time they needed to do it. Sansa could see that Brienne was worried for everyone, even going so far as to skip meals so she, Arya, and Pod had enough to eat. It scared Sansa to think that the strongest of them might fall before they made it to their destination. She regretted all the time she’d wasted on boys and social media instead of learning something useful.

Eventually, their luck turned around when they finally found a vehicle and the keys to it in a house that they took refuge in for a night. It was perhaps the only thing that would ensure their survival, as it would give them the ability to make it to Winterfell before the first snowfall. After that, the road got a little easier for them, and before they knew it, they had arrived at their destination.

Brienne decided to pull up the drive tentatively, just in case there was a horde of zombies trying to enter the estate. However, as they neared, they saw not a single member of the living dead in sight. The car slowed to a stop, and as soon as Brienne killed the engine, Sansa was out, running up to the gate to see if Winterfell stood, or if, like everything else she loved, it had been destroyed.

However, through the bars, she could distantly see the stately manor proudly overseeing the grounds. “It’s still there…” Sansa breathed, staring with hopeful wonder at her childhood home as she gripped the wrought iron bars, cold under her fingers. She could scarcely contain her excitement as she spun around, exclaiming loudly, “It’s still there! You guys! We finally have a home!”

Everyone else was by her side at once, looking through bars along with her and chattering excitedly until Brienne brought them back to reality when she said, “How do we get in?”

“Well, the gate is controlled by that box there…which is controlled by electricity, which we don’t have anymore,” Sansa said, walking over to the call box and uselessly pressing buttons. Nothing happened, though she wasn’t surprised, and she cursed herself for losing her keys along with her car so long ago.

“We could try to climb them…although they do look rather large. Perhaps we could break through them?” Pod suggested, staring up at the tall, ancient walls which surrounded the property. They were original, made of stone and having been built centuries ago, and could survive a siege if necessary. Nothing they had would be able to break through them without taking them a few centuries more.

“We don’t have to do anything like that,” Arya said as she dug through her backpack. A moment later, a shiny set of jingling keys emerged, clutched in her hand like a trophy. “I thought it was stupid to grab these, but I guess it came in handy. Come on, follow me. There’s a service entrance around back.”

“Why do you have a key to the service entrance?” Sansa asked, her brow furrowing as she half-jogged to keep up with her sister’s excited stride.

“Look, you might have been a goody-two-shoes, like Robb, but that doesn’t mean I was. Do you really think I obeyed curfew every night? Gods no! I stole Jory’s spare so I could come and go as I pleased. I think he knew, but he never said anything, since he couldn’t prove it.” Arya had a sad smile on her face as she remembered their family’s head of security. He had probably perished in King’s Landing like the rest of her family’s entourage. Sansa would never be certain.

As they made their way around the walls, Sansa kept her eyes out for zombies, though there were none around. It seemed odd, given how many they’d encountered on the road, but she chalked it up to the cold temperatures and the fact that there were fewer people up North. After all, now that they had finally reached home, worry about the living dead would likely become a thing of the past. They had walls to protect them now, and Sansa had every confidence they’d be safe for a long time once they’d settled in. Perhaps they would even find more survivors, and they could start to rebuild.

Things were finally looking up for them, and Sansa finally allowed herself a little hope as Arya unlocked the service entrance that would lead to their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saying goodbye to the Hound. Another painful chapter, but they need to move forward.
> 
> Sorry for so long in between updates. Things haven't let up at work as much as I hoped, and I've been super busy outside of work besides (obviously with the holidays, family, etc.) But, January is usually our slowest month, so hopefully I'll have more time to work on things then. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's been so patient with the update schedule moving from regular to irregular. I know it's gotta be disappointing, but I'm still appreciative to everyone who's willing to stick it out. It still seems so crazy to me that people even want to read my stories at all, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading and for all the feedback! It means a lot to me. :)


	22. Chapter 22

The store room they entered was dark, with only the beam from Brienne’s flashlight—another lucky find on the road—to guide them through. Shelves with boxes on them lined the walls, though their contents were likely expired given how much time had passed since the beginning of the end of the world. Sansa made a mental note to check them later anyway, just in case there was something still preserved within. After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they would need all the food they could get to help feed them through the winter.

They listened intently for signs of the living or the dead, and when they were certain the coast was clear, they made their way into the dining space of the cafe.

“What is this…?” Brienne asked, trailing off as she turned to look at the girls.

Sansa was the first to chime in, explaining hastily, “Our grandfather felt that Winterfell would make a good tourist destination. After all, it is a historical landmark.”

“So, he had a bunch of dumb touristy shit installed, like a gift shop and this place, to help attract people and add to our fortune,” Arya finished, rolling her eyes, “He even put stocks in the dungeons and had people pay to get their pictures taken in them. As if our ancestors even used them.”

“Arya, you must be respectful of our grandfather. You don’t want his ghost to haunt you from the crypts,” Sansa admonished, giving her sister a stern look.

Pod’s face went white as his eyes bounced back and forth between the Stark girls, eventually asking in a higher-pitched voice, “Crypts? As in…”

“Yes, crypts, Pod. Many of our ancestors are buried beneath Winterfell. It’s only right that they remain in the family home,” Arya answered him nonchalantly. They were used to it by now, but it was understandably harder for other people to swallow the idea that their dead family members would be kept so close.

“Do you think that any of them tried to escape their tombs? This whole place is probably crawling with your dead relatives!” he exclaimed, looking around nervously.

Brienne smiled and shook her head, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly as she said, “Pod, I’m fairly certain only people who were above ground were affected by whatever plague is going around. I don’t think you need to be worried about any Starks trying to eat you.”

“I’m still going to be keeping my eye out,” Pod replied, his gaze staring out the window and onto the grounds, which were surprisingly devoid of any lifeforms.

“We would all do well to keep vigilant,” Brienne agreed, adding, “Though it looks peaceful, that doesn’t mean the dead aren’t lurking just around the corner. Come on. Let’s keep going.”

With that, the group exited out onto the patio, where the majority of the tables and chairs sat intact, as though it was just another day. Sansa found that odd, as she had been quite confident things would be in disarray around the estate. She hoped that was a sign that their luck was truly turning around.

In fact, the grounds were so well-kept, that Sansa was beginning to hope that maybe some of the staff were still alive after all. Rodrik Cassel, who had been the steward at Winterfell, would have made sure the estate stayed in order, and could have kept many of the living dead away. Or perhaps Mrs. Mordane, her family’s live-in nanny, had stayed behind to make sure that when the Starks returned they would have a home to come back to. It would be so wonderful to see some familiar faces again that Sansa decided to indulge herself and allow the hope of possibility to blossom in her chest.

Everything look almost exactly the same as when they had left. The gift shop, which sat just next to the cafe, still had plush direwolves and Winterfell t-shirts sitting in the windows, which remained unbroken. The Winterfell History Center also appeared to be undisturbed, though it was often left alone even before the apocalypse. The greenhouse seemed to be well kept, too, though she couldn’t see through the steam on the glass. Looking around, nothing seemed to be amiss at all.

As they walked, Sansa noticed that the only thing that did seem to have fallen into disrepair were the gardens in the center of the estate, which had become incredibly overgrown. She supposed her family’s staff wouldn’t have bothered keeping up with it, since it was mostly hedges and topiaries. If anything, they should have hacked away at the useless plants to use the soil beneath it for planting some type of crop.

Directly across from the garden sat her childhood home. It was a large, stately building that was modified from the original structure so that it would have electricity, heat, and running water. It still retained much of its historical charms, including large, inviting hearths, and stone walls. When she was a teenager she’d likened it to living inside a dungeon, but now that she’d been through so much she saw it for the castle that it was. All she wanted was to run to it, but she stopped herself lest she accidentally run into danger.

“San, we should cut through the gardens,” Arya said suddenly, grabbing her hand in an attempt to drag her to the overgrown vegetation.

Sansa resisted, pulling herself away and saying, “Seems a little dangerous, don’t you think? There could be any number of dangers lurking in there!”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a baby. Have you seen a single zombie since we got here?” Arya asked, putting her hands on her hips.

She had a point. They hadn’t seen any sign of life since they’d arrive to her family’s estate. “Well, there could be wild animals,” she argued weakly.

Arya rolled her eyes and said, “Pretty sure if there were bears or direwolves in there, they’d have eaten us by now. Come on, it’ll be faster than walking all the way around!”

That _would_ be the fastest way to get to the family home. Though it made Sansa uneasy, she relented, and they cautiously pushed through the hedges. It was only when they were surrounded by all the greenery that she finally started to feel uneasy. The amount of foliage around them dampened what little noise there had been, creating an eerie silence, save for the sound of the leaves that their group were rustling.

Suddenly, her skin started to crawl, and Sansa couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The sounds of leaves rustling grew louder, and the moment she was certain they were no longer alone, several men with assault rifles showed themselves, aiming the barrels of the guns at her and the group.

“Put your hands where we can see them right now!” one shouted, waving his gun up a couple times to indicate that he wanted their hands raised.

“What is the meaning of this?” Brienne exclaimed, not following their orders.

“Bitch, if you don’t put your hands in the air, then by the gods I will fucking make you!” another of them exclaimed, a sneer on his face.

“How dare you? Stop aiming those guns at us at once and identify yourselves!” she argued, one of her hands going to the knife at her hip.

None of the men cared to volunteer the information Brienne had requested, nor did they lower their weapons. In fact, they only seemed to come closer, the barrels of their rifles seeming all the more menacing the nearer they were. “I am giving you once last chance. Put your hands up or die.”

“Brienne, we should do what they say,” Pod hissed, his hands raising above his head.

“Yes, please, I don’t want to lose anyone else,” Sansa implored, feeling tears spring to her eyes as she put her hands in the air as well. She should have known better than to hope for anything good to come to them.

Sansa could see Brienne’s jaw clench, but after a beat, the large woman complied, her hands shooting up into the air as she glowered at their enemies.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” the man grinned, his teeth yellowed and snaggled, before he said to the others, “Search them, take their weapons, and then tie them up. The Lord of Winterfell will probably be able find some use for them.”

Sansa’s eyes darted to Arya and as they locked on hers, she could tell they both wondered which of their siblings they would come to encounter. Arya had been certain their mother hadn’t left any of their brothers here at Winterfell, but the scene at Riverrun had been so chaotic that perhaps she’d been mistaken. Could it be Bran, shy, quiet, and fond of stories, that was now leading Winterfell? It certainly wouldn’t be young, sweet Rickon. He was just a boy, and Sansa doubted that he’d be able to command a group of ruthless thugs.

Whoever it might be, Sansa knew that once their brother laid eyes on them, they would be reunited and welcomed back into Winterfell with open arms. This was but a small hiccup to them being able to finally settle in to a place that was safe.

With their wrists tied behind their backs, the group of men led them to the courtyard at the center of the garden. It was the only part that appeared to be tended to, with the plants having been hacked back to keep the cobblestones clear. She wondered at the purpose of that as one of the men went to fetch the Lord of Winterfell. As she took a closer look at the ground, she noticed blood stains on the stones and started to feel an impending sense of dread. Deep in her heart, she knew that none of her brothers would have tolerated bloodshed in their family home. Had the apocalypse changed them so much? Had her sweet brothers really embraced the violence that seemed to have overtaken the world? Or had a stranger taken up residence in their home, masquerading as one of the Stark men? Sansa now realized that whatever reunion she had hoped for would be much worse than anything she imagined.

As the Lord of Winterfell finally made his appearance, she was both relieved and horrified all at once. The man who strode towards them was not, in fact, a Stark at all, but rather a young man that she recognized from high school: Ramsay Bolton. He had been a couple years ahead of her, and probably didn’t even remember her. However, she remembered him, Sansa’s heart turning to ice as all the rumors she’d heard about him in school started to flood back to her mind. There had been whispers of him torturing animals and other stories about him following girls he liked into the bathroom to take videos of them doing their business. And she knew for a fact that he’d been caught sniffing a girl’s underwear inside of the women’s locker room. The only thing that had saved him from expulsion was his father making a rather sizable donation to the school. Knowing all that, she had done everything in her power to avoid him. Just the way he was looking at her now made her skin crawl.

Sansa watched him carefully to see any sign of recognition, but as his ice blue eyes glanced over her, it seemed that he didn’t remember her. A cruel smile played on his lips as he finally spoke, “Well, well, well. It seems as though I have some uninvited guests trying to make themselves at home on my property. I must say, it’s incredibly bold of you to have simply waltzed in here as if you own the place.”

“That’s because we do,” Arya piped up, a scowl on her face. Sansa silently willed her sister to keep her mouth shut, but it seemed she was on a roll, because she continued, “So you can cut all the ‘Lord of Winterfell’ bullshit, because we know better. You’re nothing but a little boy playing dress up.”

Sansa expected some kind of violent outburst, but the cruel smile turned into an all-out grin as Bolton released a harsh laugh, “And makes you think you own this place, you insolent little bitch?”

Arya stood to her full height, and held her head high, saying, “I am Arya Stark, heiress of Winterfell, and this is my home. You have no right to be here, so leave now, and we will show you mercy.”

This earned Arya another laugh, heartier and fuller than the previous. The grin on his face was triumphant, as though he knew he’d won, as he said, “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. For you see, I’ve married Arya Stark. So, now, not only am I going to have to punish you for trespassing but for lying as well!” Ramsay looked practically giddy at the idea that he would be able to inflict worse retribution on Arya than he’d initially planned, and Sansa found herself wishing that Sandor were here to protect them.

“We’re not married!” Arya yelled, gagging, “I would never marry a worm-lipped piece of shit like you.”

“Still clinging to the lie? How desperate of you. One of you, please bring my lovely wife forward so that we can dispense with all the deception.” Bolton’s smile was beginning to fade, and Sansa was fearful that the longer this was drawn out, the worse violence he would inflict upon them. That is, if he didn’t just kill them outright.

Her thoughts were interrupted at the appearance of a young woman, someone else she recognized instantly. “Jeyne?!” she exclaimed without meaning to. Her best friend’s head shot up and their eyes locked. She looked much the worse for wear, with faded bruises and cut lip that had only barely healed. It broke Sansa’s heart, and she knew then that they would never make it out of here alive.

Jeyne immediately ran to Sansa, throwing her arms around her. Sansa wished she could hug Jeyne back, but her arms were still tightly bound. She listened in horror as Jeyne tearfully rushed through an explanation of how she’d come to Winterfell because she didn’t know where else to go when the dead came back to life. Rodrik Cassel had still lived then, and had welcomed her with open arms. But when Ramsay and his men came, they cut down Rodrik and took her prisoner. The only thing she could think to do was pretend to be Arya so that they wouldn’t kill her. She begged Sansa not to be mad.

Before Sansa could reassure her, however, Ramsay cleared his throat. Whatever glee he’d been feeling had apparently disappeared as he learned the truth of his ‘wife’s’ lineage. “So you mean to tell me,” he began, as he approached the two of them menacingly, “That this entire time you’ve just been some common bitch? And you’ve been lying to me? Making a fool out of me?”

“Please! I didn’t want to die!” Jeyne cried, tears falling down her face as she clasped her hands together and fell to her knees, “I was so scared. Please, show me mercy, Lord Ramsay!” Hearing Jeyne refer to him so deferentially made Sansa’s stomach turn, and she felt deeply sorry that her friend had dealt with so much abuse.

Sansa watched as Ramsay bent down and grasped Jeyne’s chin in between his fingers. A soft smile played on his face as he said, “Oh, my dear, I promise, _I_ won’t lay a finger on you.”

She could tell Jeyne was relieved for a moment, but that feeling was short lived as he gestured to his men and said, “Please, show my former wife what it is we do to liars.”

“No!” Sansa and Jeyne yelled in unison. She stared on in horror as the men each grabbed Jeyne by an arm and hauled her to her feet. One of them proceeded to hold her arms behind her back as the other began to beat her, raining blows down on her body and face. Her lip, which had only just healed, began to bleed profusely, as did her nose. By the time he’d finished, Jeyne’s face as covered in blood, and she hung limply in the man’s arms.

“Please, dispose of that thing out back, where it belongs,” Ramsay said with a wave of his hand, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. Then, he turned back to the group, and said, “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“You bastard!” Brienne yelled, struggling against her restraints, “When I get out of this, you will pay for what you did to that girl!”

Ramsay’s face darkened, and he asked quietly, “What did you just call me?”

“A bastard!” Brienne spit, her teeth clenched as she tried to free herself from the ropes that bound her.

Ramsay looked over her shoulder to one of the men behind her, and a moment later, Brienne was on the ground, crumpled as she was struck in the back of the head by the butt of a rifle.

“As long as you are here,” Ramsay said, his voice shrill as he addressed the rest of the group, “You will refer to me by one of my proper titles: Lord Bolton, Lord Ramsay, or the Lord of Winterfell. If I hear you call me anything else, you will end up like this giant bitch, or your dear friend Jeyne. Do you understand me?”

They all nodded mutely, which pleased him. “Good,” he said, smiling once again, “Now, it seems I’m in need of a new wife. But which one of the Stark sisters should I marry?”

Sansa’s blood ran cold as she realized that Ramsay must have recognized her after all. A moment later he turned to her, and said, “You didn’t really think I could forget you, did you sweet, little Sansa? Always so polite and studious, wandering the halls in your short skirts and stockings.” He walked up to her, appraising her up and down, licking his lips as he did so, “I must admit, you’ve certainly let yourself go. But, with a proper bath and a bit of makeup, you’d certainly make a much better wife than that hellion over there. You’ve got better tits, too.”

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Arya yelled, trying to lunge for Ramsay. The man standing closest to her struck her across the face before she could reach him, and Arya fell to her knees.

“Thank you for proving my point,” Ramsay said, still grinning, “Men, bring Sansa back to my private chambers, and put the rest of this trash in the cells. They may come in handy later, if I need my sweet wife to behave.”

With that, Sansa felt hands on either of her arms, and she struggled as best she could to get free. However, it was no use, and she watched helplessly as the people she loved were dragged down to the dungeons, yet another piece of history that her family had striven to keep perfectly preserved. She, on the other hand, was being led to her family’s private home. Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing it again, it hadn’t been like this. She felt as though she were being led to the firing line, and once more she wished that Sandor were here. If he had been, he would have been able to beat the smile right off of Bolton’s wormy lips.

Now, it was up to her to figure out how to get out of this mess. An impossible task, indeed. Dread settled over her as the men led her up the stairs and into the house, the darkness swallowing them.


	23. Chapter 23

Sandor was cold, wet, and wondering which of the Seven hells he’d managed to land in. From what he understood, he should be feeling quite the opposite, surrounded by heat and flames. Yet his body felt heavy, racked with shivers, as he laid in what he could only assume was mud. Was this limbo? That almost seemed worse than being in one of the hells. At least there, he’d have eternal torture to occupy his mind. Being stuck in between with nothing but the chill that had reached his bones seemed like true damnation.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden feeling of something equally wet and cold lapping against his face. Sandor’s arms felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each, and he struggled to lift one of them to push away whatever godsforsaken corpse was trying to make a meal out of him.

He had barely moved even a finger when a voice shouted, “Stranger, get away from that thing!” The sound of a gun cocking moments later made his eyes fly open. There, standing above him, was an older man pointing the barrel of a shotgun directly into his face, the dog who’d been licking his face standing behind him.

Sandor could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and for the first time since he’d awoken, he began to suspect he wasn’t actually dead, though he would be soon, if he didn’t act fast. None of his body parts seemed to want to respond to his brain, however, and the most he could muster was a guttural groan of the word, “No.” He also tried to push the barrel away from his face but his fingers slid uselessly over the smooth metal before his arm fell back to the ground.

Everything felt like it took so much effort, that since he decided he’d already made peace with his death, he may as well let it actually happen. Sandor’s eyes fluttered shut and he waited for the sound of the gunshot that would take his life.

It never came. The man must have realized his error, because a moment later Sandor heard the gun hit the ground next to him, and the voice of the man closer to his face as he said, “By the Seven, you’re alive!”

Sandor managed to muster enough energy to speak, answering back hoarsely, “No shit.”

That earned him a chuckle, and he cracked his eyes open to see the stranger smiling at him. “Glad to hear you still have some spirit in you. Perhaps I’ll be able to help you after all. Can you stand?”

Sandor hadn’t given that a thought. Were his legs even still functional? He tried to focus on moving them, and finally felt what his mind had been blocking out: a dull, throbbing ache in his thigh. As he struggled to sit up on his elbows, he looked down and saw a large wound that was crusted over with dried blood. The man’s eyes followed his own, and the smile quickly turned into a frown.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. At least, not without my help. Come now,” he said, slinging his shot gun over his shoulder and standing. The man held out his hand and said hopefully, “Let’s see what we can do.”

Sandor stared at the outstretched appendage warily. If he had learned anything about this new world, it was that he couldn’t trust anyone. However, in his weakened state, he didn’t know what other options he had, aside from lying on the bank of the river until he died. Looking at the old man, he wondered if his aged frame would be able to support the bulk of his weight.

The sound of the dog whining—was it Stranger the man had called it?—interrupted his thoughts, and both he and the man turned to see several corpses in the distance shambling their way down the bank to them.

“It seems we don’t have much time,” the man said, looking back at him, “Are you coming, or not?”

Sandor gritted his teeth and grunted in frustration as he took the man’s hand and did his best to get to his feet. The moment he put weight on his injured leg, he stumbled, pain shooting through his thigh and down his calf. However, the older man was stronger than he appeared, because he caught Sandor and said, “Easy now. Let’s make haste, shall we? Come on Stranger!”

The dog barked anxiously as they set off, running nervously around them, clearly unsettled by the proximity of the living dead.

“Where are you taking me?” Sandor asked as they did their best to put more distance between themselves and the corpses.

“I have a shelter not far from here. We’ll be safe there, and I’ll be able to attend to that wound on your leg,” the man said between breaths, clearly straining under the effort of trying to help Sandor along.

Sandor only hummed his response, and they continued on silently for the remainder of their journey. Eventually they came upon a chain link fence, the stranger setting him down when they reached it. “We’re going to have to work together to get you through this hole, okay?” the man said, pulling back the chain link to reveal a gap in the fence. Stranger had already run through and was streaking across the land towards what Sandor could only presume was their destination. The man was next, ducking through the hole before turning around and reaching for Sandor. “I’m going to drag you through, just try to help as much as you can,” he said, hooking his arms under Sandor’s and around his shoulders.

The two of them strained for some time before Sandor finally made it through the gap in the fence. Each was out of breath, but the stranger didn’t wait to catch his. He quickly closed up the gap and covered it with brush to make it less noticeable. Then, they were off, with him being hoisted aloft once more. Sandor’s body began to shake as they walked, and he could finally feel the chill of his wet clothes sticking to him seeping into his bones. As he shook, another thought occurred to him, and he realized the shivers may well be the beginnings of withdrawal. He shuddered at the thought of having to go through that again, and prayed that there would be some sort of substance to ease his suffering wherever they were going.

As they crossed the grounds, he could see several large buildings in the distance, though that wasn’t the direction in which they were traveling. In fact, the man seemed to be guiding him to a much smaller building, which Sandor finally realized was the shelter the man had referenced. As they neared it, he could see that it was actually an abandoned sept. Sandor groaned audibly and said, “A sept? What are you, a fucking Septon?”

The older man chuckled as they struggled up the steps and said, “No, not quite. Now lean against this wall while I get the door open.”

Sandor used the wall to support himself while the stranger produced a set of keys and unlocked the door to the holy building. Stranger, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, raced in immediately, clearly impatient to be inside a safe place once again. They followed soon after, and once inside, the man locked the doors behind them, effectively sealing out any intruders who were not too keen to break in. From there, he led Sandor to the middle of the room, where a tent and a small camp stove were set up.

As he set Sandor on the ground, he said, “I have an extra sleeping bag and some blankets. I have clothes, too, though I don’t know that they’ll fit you. Either way, we have to get you out of what you’re wearing, and we’ll get you warmed up in no time.”

“With all due respect, I don’t need new clothes. What I need is a stiff drink. Or some pills, if you have any. My leg is killing me,” Sandor grunted, noting that the dull ache had now grown to a serious throbbing.

When the man didn’t respond, Sandor looked up at him, and found him staring contemplatively back at him. After another beat, he said, “I’m afraid I don’t have anything like that. You’ll just have to push through the pain.”

“Gods be damned,” Sandor cursed, his head starting to pound. His hands and body shook as he wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to throw up.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’re out of those clothes, and I’ve cleaned your leg and gotten it properly bandaged. Just try to relax,” the man told him, setting his pack down. He dug around for some time, eventually producing a bottle of water, some gauze, and a pair of tweezers. He also pulled out a sweater and some sweatpants, tossing them to Sandor. “Try those on for size. If they don’t fit, we’ll get you wrapped in some blankets.”

Sandor struggled less with his top, tossing the soaked flannel and undershirt to the side. The sweater was too small, almost comically so, but it was better than being naked. The pants were another matter, and after several minutes, the stranger insisted on helping him. It was humiliating, especially since he only had them pulled up to his knees.

“No sense putting them all the way on. I still need to see to that cut. Wrap this around you and I’ll get started,” he said, tossing Sandor a wool blanket. Still, even in dry clothes and covered, the shakes didn’t leave him, and he knew for certain withdrawal was going to hit him like a truck.

Sandor laid back and stared up at the ceiling of the sept, hissing in pain as he felt the cool water wash over the wound. He gritted his teeth and let out several curses as the man’s hands worked over his injured flesh, cleaning away the dried blood and dirt that would cause an infection.

“You’re lucky that whatever did this didn’t hit your femoral artery, Mr…” the man trailed off. It was in that moment that Sandor realized they hadn’t even exchanged names.

“Call me Sandor,” he said, his words strained as his body shook, “And you?”

The man paused for a moment before answering, “People have been known to call me Elder Brother.”

Sandor groaned, “That’s worse than a fucking septon.”

The Elder Brother chuckled at that. “Perhaps, though I doubt a septon would be able to fix up your leg.”

“True, they’re all useless cunts,” Sandor replied, adding, “But I’ve never known a brother, even an Elder Brother, to be particularly useful either.”

“And how many brothers have you met?” the Elder Brother asked, his voice wry. He had Sandor there. He could count on one hand the number of brothers he’d seen in his life.

Not wanting to be bested, he decided to change the subject, then, asking, “What is this place, anyway?”

The Elder Brother hesitated for a moment, before saying, “We’re in a sept located on the grounds of the Riverlands Rehabilitation Center.”

Sandor’s breath caught in his throat, and then he barked out a laugh. The absolute fucking irony. He _never_ would have set foot in fucking rehab before, so the fact that he was being forced to now felt like a cruel trick of the gods.

“Something funny?” the man asked as he continued to tend to Sandor’s wound.

“No,” Sandor answered sourly, adding, “Nothing funny at all.”

The Elder Brother continued to work quietly, all the while Sandor’s body shook in spite of his coverings. His stomach turned and his head spun, and he started to wish that he’d died in the Trident after all. When he didn’t think he could take anymore, the man’s voice said simply, “There, all clean. I’ll get you bandaged up, and then we’ll get you into a sleeping bag.”

Once he was all settled, the Elder Brother sat across from him, with the camp stove in between them. Stranger curled up beside him, rather than by his master, and Sandor wondered if the dog could sense he was in distress. Either way, he was grateful for the warmth. He cursed himself for all the moonshine he’d drank before, and tried to curl in on himself to stop his body from shaking so much. As though reading his mind, the Elder Brother broke the silence, saying, “So how long have you been an addict?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sandor asked as his teeth chattered.

“You haven’t stopped shaking since I got you here, your breath still smells of liquor even after your bath in the Trident, and you asked me for pills before you asked my name,” he said, then added, “And Stranger is an emotional support dog who can sense that you’re going through something, most likely withdrawal.”

“Fuck you,” Sandor replied, for lack of any better response.

“Spoken like a true addict,” the man said sagely, only further incensing Sandor.

Mustering the last of his strength, Sandor cracked open his eyes and growled, “Look, you don’t fucking know me, so don’t act like you do. Just shut your fucking mouth if all you’re going to do is spout off bullshit.”

The Elder Brother appeared unfazed and replied simply, “When you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sandor groaned, closing his eyes once more.

“The offer still stands,” the Elder Brother said, and then he was quiet.

Silence stretched between them for some time, with Sandor feeling worse by the minute. He wondered if he would actually die here. It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. No doubt his body was suffering a great deal between almost drowning, the severe wound on his leg, and the withdrawal he was going through. Hells, withdrawal alone could kill him, from what he understood. Perhaps it would do him some good to confess his sins before he went. Then, at least one person would know how sorry he really was for everything.

“Years,” Sandor finally answered, the effort it took to speak astounding.

“I’m sorry?” the Elder Brother asked.

“I’ve been an addict for years,” Sandor confessed, hoarsely “Ever since I was a kid.”

The Elder Brother hummed sympathetically, a sound that both saddened and infuriated him. Before he could bark at the man, the Elder Brother spoke, saying, “Why do you think that is?”

“Did you fail to notice my face? Or are you just too fucking polite to talk about it?” Sandor snarled, thinking back to when he got his scars. He could practically feel the heat of the flames licking up against his face again, and his nausea worsened.

“So your scars drove you to your vices?” the Elder Brother asks, then adds, “Or is it how you got those scars that made you turn to substance abuse?”

If Sandor felt better he’d have rolled his eyes and stomped out of this wretched place. As if the answer to those questions weren’t obvious. People didn’t get wounds like this and not come out the other side fucked up. And the way people treated him in the aftermath didn’t help either. People who’d been his ‘friends’ in school shunned him when he finally returned, and things definitely didn’t improve when he tried to go to college. Hells, even his professors could barely keep up a professional enough facade to act as though they weren’t disgusted by his face.

“Both,” he finally grunted when the Elder Brother didn’t speak again. He could sense the question hanging in the air, so before the Elder Brother could ask, Sandor continued, “It was my older brother. He held me down in the fire after I played with his lucky football. I shouldn’t have done it. So fucking stupid.”

“So you blame yourself for his actions?” the Elder Brother asked him. Sandor’s knee-jerk reaction was to disagree and ask the fucking moron where he got that idea, but he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Because I fail to see how your actions were stupid. You were a child, correct? Sure, it was his ‘lucky football,’ but was putting your face in the fire really an appropriate response? Did the punishment he inflicted on you really fit the crime?”

The questions he asked made Sandor take pause. It was perhaps the first time he’d ever heard anyone actually put the blame on Gregor, and framed it in such a way that made him look like the psychopath that he was.

The Elder Brother continued, “And what punishment did your brother receive for what he did to you?”

“Not shit. My father just pretended it didn’t happen,” Sandor answered bitterly, “Hells, he was practically rewarded. Went on to go to college on a football scholarship and no one was any the wiser. But that’s just the way the world works, isn’t it? Justice is never fucking served. Even when he killed our baby sister, no one did a fucking thing. Innocent people get hurt, and guilty people go free. Such a fucking joke.”

“He killed your sister, too?” The Elder Brother made another sympathetic noise, but Sandor didn’t have enough energy left to be angry at his pity. “So, not only did something truly traumatic happen to you and someone you cared about, but no one even so much as acknowledged either event. You were forced to bury your feelings of injustice and resentment towards your brother, and you used whatever substance you could get your hands on to do it.”

“It’s not that fucking deep. The pills and the booze made me feel good. It’s got nothing to do with burying my ‘feelings.’ You’re reading way too much into this,” Sandor replied, clutching the sleeping bag more tightly around himself as his feelings of discomfort worsened.

“Okay, tell me what happens when you don’t drink or have pills?” the Elder Brother asked, his tone bordering on condescending.

Nightmares. Anger. Resentment. The world is too bright and Sandor feels too much. His skin prickles with need and all he wants is to bury himself inside something to distract himself from all the things he doesn’t want to think about.

Perhaps the Elder Brother had a point after all.

“If you’ve been abusing drugs and alcohol since you were a child, I doubt you’ve developed any healthy ways to cope with the things you feel.”

Also true. Sandor thought back to his interactions with Arya, and Sansa, and everyone else in his life, and all the ways in which he’d taken his feelings out on them. His harsh words, his violence, his outbursts. None of it was fair, and it made him feel even shittier than he already did. He really was as worthless as everyone thought. The thought only strengthened his need to vomit.

“Sandor,” came the Elder Brother’s voice, softly, much closer than before. He felt the man’s hand on his shoulder as he continued, “I want you to listen to me. What happened to you—what your brother did to you—wasn’t your fault. The anger that you feel towards him, the resentment you feel towards your father, and all the other negative feelings you have towards the world in general are all perfectly normal. Your brother should have gone to jail for what he did to you and your sister, and your father should have defended you, not ignored the monster living under his roof. Nobody protected either of you, when you both needed to be protected most. You are not responsible for the actions of those who hurt you.

“What you are responsible for is the way you’ve dealt with those feelings. Instead of working through them, you’ve bottled them up inside of you and buried them with different substances. And then, when you didn’t have those substances to cope, you probably turned to other self-destructive means to ignore your feelings. Perhaps even been abusive to the people you cared about in order to push them away. After all, you’ve learned that what you care about is taken away from you. To love will only bring pain.

“I’m sure you have plenty of people you need to make amends with, but until you let go of all your feelings of anger and resentment, that can never happen. Not only are all the things you’re burying hurting you, they’re likely hurting others as well. You can never heal until you begin to let go of what’s causing your inner wounds to fester. You don’t have to forgive your brother, but the hate you feel for him does nothing for you but hold you back. Sandor, you have to let go.”

And at that last phrase, he finally did.

Sandor wept openly for his mother, his sister, for Sansa, and for Arya. For all the things that were taken from him when his face was pushed into the fire. For his innocence lost, and for every horrible thing he’s ever done to someone he’s cared about because they got to close. His voice was hoarse as he sobbed ‘I’m sorry’ over and over and over again. He wept until blackness stole at the edges of his vision, and oblivion finally, blessedly took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm back with two chapters this time, instead of just one! Partially because it's been so long since I last updated (an entire month flew by so fast!) but also because I feel a little guilty at how that last chapter ended. Though this chapter didn't dial back on the angst, at least we finally get to see Sandor again. :) I've felt a lot more motivated to write lately--probably because I'm finally getting used to my new job--so hopefully I'll be able to get this story finished sooner than later.
> 
> I also feel like I should update the summary to reflect the direction the story wound up going. I definitely didn't plan to take it this direction, but it felt like a weirdly natural evolution.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy the chapters! Thank you so much for all the love on the last one! :)


	24. Chapter 24

When Sandor finally woke, the first thing he was aware of was the fact that Stranger still appeared to be sleeping at his side. He was grateful for the warmth radiating from the dog’s body, as well as the extra blanket that the Elder Brother must have placed over him sometime in the night. Though he still felt shaky, the shivers that had wracked his body the day before had lessened considerably.

Somehow, everything seemed clearer than it had in a long time. The space inside the sept was lit by sunlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows which stood out in sharp relief. The one directly above him depicted the mother, staring down at him with kind eyes. Sandor sighed deeply and tried to sit up, though the action made another wave of nausea wash over him.

As he tried to stop himself from retching, he heard the Elder Brother say, “Oh, good, you’re awake. I wasn’t sure how long you would be out. I can only imagine the amount of abuse you’ve put your body through.”

Though Sandor wanted to tell him to fuck off, he swallowed it down, knowing that the Elder Brother was right. Only the gods knew how he’d survived so long without collapsing in on himself like a dying star. “Apparently not enough abuse to kill me, so there’s that,” Sandor ground out, putting his head in his hands. Stranger whined beside him and put his head onto Sandor’s lap, and Sandor responded by rubbing the dog’s ears.

“Do you feel well enough to eat?” the Elder Brother asked from beside him, “If you don’t, I can warm up some chicken broth. You need to get some more calories into you.”

“The broth,” Sandor said, hating being at the mercy of another. He felt useless, like a child, and very much wanted to be back on his feet sooner than later.

The Elder Brother nodded and got to work, putting a pot onto a grate that sat atop an old paint can. He quickly lit a fire inside the can, then poured the broth into the pot to be warmed up. Once he’d finished, he turned to Sandor and said, “Do you want to talk about last night?”

“You mean how I cried like a little bitch?” Sandor asked, trying to forget how hard he’d sobbed. His throat felt scratchy from the strain, and he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how weak he’d been in front of this stranger.

“If that’s how you want to refer to it. How are you feeling?” The Elder Brother sat cross-legged across from him, his expression unreadable as he watched Sandor carefully.

“Great. Nothing I love more than making a fool of myself in front of strangers,” Sandor scoffed with a shake of his head.

“I see your walls are back up now that you’re feeling a bit better. Not that I’m surprised. You don’t strike me as the type to let go of the things that make you feel safe very easily,” he replied, a knowing smile on his face, “If you don’t let those walls down, you’ll be filling them back up with painkillers and alcohol sooner than you know.”

Sandor wanted to tell the old man to fuck off, but knew it wouldn’t phase him, and kept his mouth shut instead. A small voice inside his head encouraged him to consider whether the Elder Brother was right or not. After all, he hadn’t gotten very far away from his addiction by doing things the way he always had. In fact, keeping everything to himself, internalizing all of his pain, and pushing everyone away had only made it easier to hide in drugs and alcohol.

“I just don’t know how” Sandor admitted, staring at the floor.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Here, drink this slowly. It’ll be the first thing you’ve had besides water in days,” the Elder Brother said, pouring the warmed broth into a bowl and handing it to him.

“I’ve been out for days?” Sandor asked incredulously as he accepted the bowl.

“Yes, but don’t worry. I’ve been giving you water keep you hydrated,” he said, sitting back down across from Sandor.

Sandor sipped the broth. It was hot, salty, and tasted like shit, but it was better than trying to eat solid food at this point. He knew he’d only throw it back up if he tried. He was still reeling from the fact that he’d been passed out for days. It felt like only hours had gone by, and he finally started to understand the damage he’d inflicted on his body.

“So tell me how the fuck I’m supposed ‘let my walls down’ or whatever” Sandor finally asked, already feeling on edge.

“Start letting people in. Don’t hide the things you feel, and don’t ignore them either. And if you feel like drinking, you need to tell someone and channel that desire into something productive.”

“Sounds easier said than done,” Sandor said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re right. It is easier said than done. But nothing worth having comes easy. I think you know that by now,” the Elder Brother said, his expression serious, “Sobriety is the greatest gift you can give yourself, and those you care about, especially in this day and age. It will take work, but it will be worth it. You’ll see.”

“Right.” Sandor didn’t say anything else for a little while. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to do the work he needed to.

“If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for Sansa and Arya,” the Elder Brother said, shocking him.

“How the fuck do you know about them?” Sandor rasped, his eyes snapping up to stare at the man across from him.

“You called out for them. Both of them. I assume they mean a great deal to you.”

More than he could say. More than he wanted to admit to this man. But perhaps this was all part of letting his walls down or whatever bullshit the Elder Brother had spouted off.

“They do,” Sandor finally said hesitantly.

“But you’ve hurt them, right?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you were apologizing to them. Don’t you remember?”

He did, though only vaguely. “No, not really.”

“So have you? Hurt them, that is?”

Sandor nodded, not wanting to admit it out loud.

“Physically?”

“What? Gods no! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The Elder Brother didn’t seemed phased by his outburst, and only shrugged, saying, “You’re a large man with a temper. It’s not much of a stretch.”

“Well, I didn’t, all right? I was just selfish and shitty,” Sandor said, finishing off the last of the broth and setting the bowl down.

“And chose your addiction over them?”

“More than once,” Sandor admitted with a heavy sigh.

“Why do you think that is?” the Elder Brother asked him, watching him carefully.

“I don’t know. Maybe because it was easier to deal with everything that way,” Sandor said quietly, his hands combing through Stranger’s fur, “The closer I got to them the harder it felt. The world as we know it today is so dangerous. There’s literal monsters lurking around every corner, ready to take away the people we love in an instant.”

“And you love these girls?”

Sandor had never spoken the words aloud. Admitting it seemed like it would just be burdening them. Like asking the gods or the universe or whatever to strike them down where they stood. Love only brought pain. It was a lesson he’d been taught over and over again by the life he’d lived.

“I do,” Sandor finally said, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a vise.

“Then you owe it to them to get better. And you need to make amends with them, if they’ll have you. You said it yourself that there are no guarantees in this world. Do you really want your life to end having never told them how you feel?” the Elder Brother said, shaking his head.

“They’re better off not knowing,” Sandor scoffed, “Everything I love turns to shit. I loved my sister, and look how that turned out. My mother, too.”

“You realize that your love for them wasn’t what killed them, right?”

Sandor opened his mouth to say that of course he knew that, but the words caught in his throat. That was the narrative he’d been telling himself his whole life, after all. It was the reason he kept everyone at arm’s length or even further if he could. His love was a curse, and in his heart, he really believed it.

“To put it bluntly, if you really do believe that, then you must be one of the most self-centered people I’ve ever met. I’m afraid the universe isn’t out to get you, Sandor.”

“Well it sure fucking feels like it,” Sandor growled, glaring at the man sitting across from him.

“A lot of truly horrific things have happened to you, it’s true. And yes, you’ve lost people you’ve loved. But they didn’t die because you loved them, Sandor. They died because the world can be a truly cruel and terrible place,” the Elder Brother told him, his eyes sad, “You tell yourself you can’t love people because you’re afraid of losing them. You close yourself off to the possibility of getting close to people so that you don’t have to feel the pain that could come if something bad were to happen to them. And that’s no way to live.

“When you get better and your leg is healed, you need to go to them. I think it would help you in your recovery to tell them you’re sorry. And to tell them how much you care about them.”

“They won’t have me,” Sandor told him simply with a shake of his head, “I’ve hurt them too much and too often for them to forgive me.”

“You’ll never know if that’s true unless you try,” the Elder Brother replied, “And you owe it to yourself and them to try.”

The Elder Brother painted a pretty picture. He could just see it now: him, strolling up to the gates of Winterfell and having the Stark sisters welcome him with open arms. They would allow him within the tall, protective walls, forgiving him for everything. They would hug, they would cry, they would laugh, and then they would all live happily ever after. Perhaps Sansa would even choose to be with him, and they could pretend to be Lord and Lady of Winterfell for the rest of their days.

It was a pretty picture indeed, and one that would likely not come to fruition.

“I need to go out and catch us some dinner,” the Elder Brother said, interrupting his thoughts, “I’ll be back before sundown. Just think about what I said, all right?”

Sandor nodded mutely and laid back down, resting his head on the pack he’d been using as a pillow. When his eyes closed, visions of Sansa and Arya appeared to him at once. Just picturing their faces filled him with a longing that he’d normally numb with drugs and booze. They had probably made it to Winterfell by now, and were ensconced safely within the property. Maybe the girls had even had a few happy reunions with friends or family that were still there. That was certainly what he wished for them. After everything they’d been through, it was the least they deserved.

If he hadn’t screwed everything up, he’d be there with them right now. Instead, he was trapped inside a sept in the ass-end of nowhere with a holier-than-thou Elder Brother who was trying to force therapy on him. Sansa and Arya were far better company. Sandor would give anything to go back in time and kick his own ass for being such an idiot. He’d had the world when he was with the two of them, and he’d let his own fears and insecurities blind him to that reality.

Sandor would give anything to see the two of them again. They deserved a real apology, one that wasn’t brought on by a life or death situation and a jar of moonshine. If anything else, he’d be able to memorize their faces one last time. His last memories of them were currently so distorted that it both pained and shamed him to think about it.

He opened his eyes and stared up at the Mother depicted in stained-glass above him. The way her kind eyes gazed down at him made him feel as though their forgiveness could actually be a possibility. However, Sandor would never know whether or not that was true if he chose to live out the rest of his life here in the Riverlands. There might not be anything for him at Winterfell besides a door slammed in his face, but that was more than what he had going for him here.

Though it pained him to admit it, the Elder Brother was right. When his leg was healed and he was well enough to travel, he needed to go to Winterfell and make amends for all the ways he’d wronged them. Even if they didn’t forgive him, they would at least know that he finally understood the hurt he’d caused them.

Eventually he drifted off, only waking at the sound of the doors to the sept being opened and closed. It was clear the some time had passed, the light having dimmed considerably in the space. Sandor sat up on his elbows and squinted through the dark, only just able to make out the Elder Brother’s face as he approached.

“Feeling any better? I caught some nicely sized trout so there’s enough for you to have a hearty meal if you’re up for it,” he said, setting down his pack and the fish as Stranger greeted him warmly.

“I could eat,” Sandor said, sitting up once again. The nausea had subsided for the most part, and he now realized there was a gnawing in his stomach he could no longer ignore.

“Excellent. Ever cleaned a fish before?” he asked, smiling kindly at Sandor. When he nodded, the Elder Brother tossed him a couple of the trout and passed him a knife, saying, “Then let’s get started.”

As he worked to get the valuable meat separated from the scales and bones of the fish, Sandor could sense an air of expectation about the Elder Brother. Eventually the man spoke, asking, “So, did you have a chance to think about our conversation?”

“What else would I have been doing?” Sandor grunted as he worked the knife down the belly of the fish, “Learning how to tap dance?”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What are you going to do? Not that I mind your company, but you and I both know that this is not where you belong,” he said, disposing of the fish bits into a bucket which he slid closer to Sandor so he could do the same.

“When my leg isn’t totally fucking useless, I’ll be heading to Winterfell,” Sandor told him, dumping his own fish guts into the bucket, “However long that’ll be.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” the Elder Brother replied, a soft smile on his face, “I’ll make sure you’re well enough for the journey.”

Sandor knew he should say ‘thank you,’ but he felt his pride take over, and simply grunted in response, focusing on his knife work instead. When the fish were cleaned, he passed the meat back to the Elder Brother so that he could start to cook it. Once they finished their food, the Elder Brother asked to see his leg. It was still painful, and he realized he had a long way to go before he’d make it to Winterfell.

The rest of their days and nights were spent in similar fashion. Sandor’s mornings were often filled with conversation prompted by the Elder Brother. Then, he would leave and tell Sandor to think about the things they’d discussed. Eventually, he’d return with their dinner, and then see to his leg after they’d eaten. When it was healed enough, the Elder Brother encouraged him to get up and walk around, something for which he was grateful. He’d never been the kind of man to sit idle for long.

Once his leg had lost most of its stiffness, the Elder Brother started bringing Sandor out to hunt and fish with him. The fresh air was invigorating, and for the first time in a long time, he felt truly well. He was finally starting to feel like the kind of man that Sansa and Arya deserved him to be. Though it would take a long time for him to truly heal, he knew he was actually on the road to recovery, instead of just putting a bandaid over a gaping wound as he had many times before. Much as it pained him to admit it, the conversations he had with the Elder Brother were helping him to work through many of the issues he’d tried to ignore his whole life.

Soon, the day finally came where both he and the Elder Brother acknowledged that he should begin his journey.

It was the Elder Brother who brought it up first, saying, “Sandor, it’s time.”

Rays of morning sunshine spilled through the stained glass windows and slanted across the floor, casting the sept in a rosy hue. Sandor looked to the man, only a little surprised to hear him speak the words, though he didn’t disagree.

“You’re right,” Sandor finally said, lacing up his boots. He’d been thinking it for the last few days, but wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. He owed the Elder Brother much, and hadn’t thought of the right way to thank him.

“The Stark girls have waited for you long enough,” he said, putting different items in a pack that he eventually sat at Sandor’s feet.

“You could come with me,” Sandor said, surprising even himself, “They said Winterfell was safe, and I’m sure they could use your expertise.”

The Elder Brother only chuckled and said, “That’s a generous offer, but I’m too old to travel such a distance. This is my home and where I’m happiest. Besides, if I were to leave, who would fish men such as yourself out of the river to nurse them back to health?”

“I really don’t know how to repay you for that,” Sandor said, rising and slinging the pack over his shoulder, “I owe you more than I can say.”

“You owe me nothing,” the Elder Brother replied, a kind smile on his face, “Helping people such as yourself was my job before the world ended. You were a person in need, and I simply did my duty. Don’t trouble yourself over ‘repayment’ or any such nonsense.”

Sandor could tell there was no sense arguing with the man. Rather than prolonging it, he thanked the Elder Brother for everything and told him that he hoped their paths might cross again.

“Who knows? If the Stark girls tell me to piss off, perhaps I’ll come back and join you here. Nowhere else for me to go, after all,” Sandor said with a snort.

“I suppose we’ll see. Off with you now, and safe travels. I wish you luck,” the Elder Brother said, ushering him out through the sept doors.

And then, Sandor was alone again. This would be the true test, he realized, as he made his way back towards the Twins. It was easy enough not to give in to temptation when he was cooped up in a shitty backwoods sept. But now that he was on the road without anyone there to mind him, it would be a simple thing to find a liquor store or a gas station and start to drown his sorrows once more.

However, any time he was tempted, Sandor reminded himself that his vices had always been his downfall. Nothing good would come of it, and he’d worked too hard to make himself worthy of the Stark girls. And worthy of his own self-respect. No fleeting pleasure was enough for him to give that up.

He had a journey to complete after all. He was headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so begins his journey to Winterfell!
> 
> Sorry for the long absence once again. I really do have every intention of finishing this. I finally took some time off work, and the rest and relaxation made it easier to sit down and actually get some work done.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait! Sandor finally gets the opportunity to work through some of the things that have been holding him back. I really enjoyed writing it, especially since he deserves a little bit of TLC. Healing will take more time, of course, but this is a good start. :)


End file.
